


got an uncontrollable urge

by nightabsentia, pinkmaggit



Category: Metallica
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Cigarettes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Fist Fights, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Public Blow Jobs, Rivalry, Sharing Clothes, Skateboarding, Skinny Dipping, beating up ur crush is a valid way to flirt, dumbasses dumbassing, lars is a nosy motherfucker. what else is new, mixtapes, smoking pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightabsentia/pseuds/nightabsentia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkmaggit/pseuds/pinkmaggit
Summary: Jason didn’t really mean to start dating someone from the Alva Posse. And James never, in a million fucking years, would’ve thought he’d end up with someone from the Bones Brigade. Especially considering they’re rivals; like, it might as well be written instonethat they're arch-nemeses.They’re not quite sure how they got here.But hey. Life’s funny like that.+or: the late 1980’s skateboarding scene, love, betrayal, hotel rooms, plenty of weed, and the fragile state of diplomacy.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Jason Newsted
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. not in love

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the skateboarding au u never knew u needed
> 
> this is based on the bones brigade/alva posse teams (both were skateboarding teams in the 80s when vert skating was the big thing) + jason and james’ rivalry is based on the infamous hawk v. hosoi rivalry (which u can see in a lil snippet [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mpRBr_mguT8))
> 
> we def recommend u check out bones brigade: an autobiography [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4m51vLuwpg&ab_channel=YouTubeMovies)
> 
> shoutout to @inkk for beta-ing the fuck out of this and making it shine,,, we love u <33333333

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason meets James when he crosses enemy lines. Bones Brigade and Alva Posse were never meant to mix, okay?

After the backpatting and praise is over with after his run, Jason decides that he needs a cigarette like nothing else. 

It’s been a long ass day, with a three hour drive to get to the venue and then sweltering in the sun while waiting for the gig to even get set up, before they could finally get around to getting this thing really started.

He’s a stress smoker more than anything else, can make a pack stretch out an entire month and then go another month after that without them. Today is where he finds himself without when he needs one most. Fuck.

Lars and Kirk don’t smoke, but he figures he’d like to find them just so he can be around them and decompress a little. He hasn’t really talked to anyone all day; everyone passed out on the ride over and then split upon arrival so they could do warmups and find bathrooms, and so he ventures to find his people to hang with. 

Walking around the grounds, he looks for them behind the vert, in some of the canopy tents set up, out to the parking lot to the van, and even in the trampoline area. They’re nowhere to be found. They’re probably out walking on the main street dicking around or getting food, and Jason is hardly inclined to go and try and hunt them down. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.

So now he’s nicotine starved and lonely. Goddamn it. 

Jason resolves himself to just going and sitting up in the stands, to find their coach and watch the rest of the competition. He’ll live. 

As he walks back up to the stands, just before he rounds to go up the stairs, he notices a figure sitting cross legged underneath, in the tangle of all of the metal beams. It first occurs to him that it’s the Alva guy, James. He’s a semi-regular fixture at whichever competitions the Posse rolls up to, and a pretty decent skater. They haven’t really interacted before, and Jason would normally let the other guy be. 

Except that James has the distinctly colored package of Marlboro Reds in his hand and is lighting one up.

Bingo.

Entering into the open space under the stands, careful not to trip himself up on the steel scaffolding, he greets him.

“Hey man.”

James looks up from where he’s concentrating on getting his smoke to light, then snaps his lighter shut and takes a hard drag. He narrows his eyes as he fixes them on Jason and pulls the cigarette out between his lips so he can speak. “Hey.” 

“Can I bum a smoke off of you, dude?” Jason asks, getting straight to the point. 

James is more than accommodating. He opens the pack and pulls one out, reaches his arm up to hand it to Jason. “Thought the Bones Brigade was too straight edge, even for cigarettes,” he mumbles, not in a way that Jason perceives as snotty or backhanded, but simply as a fact. 

Which is fair; they’re not hardcore guys. They’re late night social drinkers and occasional pot smokers.

“Guess you thought wrong,” Jason says with a lopsided grin, albeit with no bite to his words. James passes off his zippo as well. Jason flicks it open, strikes the wheel, and sucks until he has a nice smoldering cherry. As he passes the lighter back to its owner, he asks, “You mind if I chill out here with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” James says. Cool. A place out of the sun and a little bit of company. Not finding Lars and Kirk doesn’t feel as bad now. Jason sits a small distance away next to James, to be with him but not to crowd him. 

For a while, they just sit in silence as Jason takes it all in for a moment. He finds himself winding down a little, able to finally relax. There’s all this rhetoric nowadays with people trying to say smoking is terrible for you, but it really works for him. The nicotine helps calm him down, and it’s just like a breathing exercise, with a deep inhale and exhale. Hardly anything better.

James clears his throat. “Good run, man. You killed it today.”

Jason turns his head to look at the other man and grins, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. “Thanks, dude. Could've been worse. Like what's his name,” he says, snapping his fingers as he tries to remember what the name of James’ red-headed teammate is. “Fuckin’- the dude who ate shit today and cracked the top of the coping?”

“Oh, Dave,” James laughs. “Yeah, poor motherfucker. Was fucking funny.”

“Is he ok?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Nothing more than a super bruised ego. Especially cause there was this chick he was trying to impress, but hey.”

Jason giggles. “That's tough. Whenever you're trying to show off for someone you always fuck up, huh?”

“Damn right,” James says, taking a slow drag off his cigarette. “That’s why I skate for nobody. Don’t try to impress anyone. I’m a lone wolf.”

“You’re in the Alva Posse, though. You can’t be a lone wolf if you’re on a team, man.”

“Whatever,” James laughs, his smile wide and bright. “Point taken.”

“Well, I saw your run, and I was impressed, so. Take that,” Jason teases. 

James grins. “Thanks. Where’s the rest of the Bones crew?”

Jason shrugs. “Think they went to grab something to eat,” he says, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. He’s kind of forgotten about it, and now there’s a towering pile on the end. It hits the ground in a clump of grey. “Just me now.”

“The guys that aren’t waiting for runs ditched too.”

“Man, fuck all of ‘em, let’s form our own team,” Jason cracks. That gets a light laugh out of James.

For a moment, the other man considers this, and then says at last, “Wanna make a team to go out and find something to eat?” James smiles.

“Yeah, sure.” 

They both get up to clamber out from underneath the bleachers and begin crossing the grounds to go find a food cart of something. Jason saw there was a burger stand set up earlier, so he directs James over that way, weaving through spectators, the afternoon sweltering where they’re standing on asphalt. 

Sure enough, they manage to find it out by the parking lot. Jason digs his wallet out of his pocket, handing over a ten for a couple burgers and two cans of coke; the guy at the grill passes over the foil wrappers, and Jason accepts them before passing James his meal. With a sheepish ‘thanks,’ James takes the lead this time, guiding them to a shaded spot in the grass underneath a tree.

They both sit. James unwraps his burger, taking a messy bite. Jason watches as a little chunk of tomato falls out of his mouth and lands in the grass. It’s kind of endearing, almost. 

“You know, man, I actually just read your interview in Thrasher. It was good,” James starts conversationally. 

Jason cracks his drink open. “Yeah? I kinda hate doing interviews,” he admits. “I mean, like. I don’t know shit, man. Feels weird when people try to pick my brain.”

“‘Don’t know shit,’ says the guy that wins every time and is probably gonna win today. They’d kill me if I told you this, but my guys were pissing their pants over you before we came down.”

“That’s different,” Jason flushes. “It just feels so weird. I’m just a dumb kid, y’know? I don’t- I don’t got any ‘sage advice’, or whatever.”

“Eh, who cares. What matters is that you got cool taste in music,” James amends. “I liked your playlist idea so I put it together on a cassette. Been spinning it in my car a bunch.”

Jason beams. “Really?” He feels a hot rush of blood in his cheeks. An Alva guy, having something nice to say about him? And not just that, but a hot, cute Alva guy? He’d be lying if he said that didn’t feel good and also super flattering. “That’s… really cool. Any favorite tracks?”

“Yeah! There’s one, uh. _Bad Penny?_ It’s so raw, I love it.” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Jason nods, taking a bite of his burger. “That’s a good one. One of _my_ personal favorites.”

“I swear it could be used as a vert song or something man. Might have to do it in the future. Everyone else on Earth has been using the Misfits and it's getting stale.”

Jason laughs before he takes a sip of his pop. “That’s fair, man. They’re fucking good, though. Can’t go wrong with the classics.”

“Listen, listen, listen. I love the Misfits, I do. But how many times can I hear _Last Caress_ in one day in one park, man?” James demands, gesturing wildly with the hand that’s holding his burger. A chunk of lettuce goes flying out. “Bad enough one of the guys on my team is obsessed with them. All he plays in the goddamn car, back-to-back, screaming along with the tape. Like, fuck. Even got the fucking skull tatted on his arm.” James rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he takes an exasperated bite. 

That makes Jason giggle. “Better than my team. They don’t like all the hard shit. I have to listen to the Talking Heads on the rides over. I don’t even fucking know French and I can sing that part of _Psycho Killer_.”

James snickers. “Sing it for me, Bones boy,” he teases. “You’re a regular bilingual, huh? Chicks dig that.”

Jason feels his face burn. He crumples up the wrapper of his burger. “No way, man. I suck at languages.”

“Indulge me here,” James prods, giving him a light shove with the back of his hand. “Parlez-vous at me.” 

And, well. Maybe Jason’s a little weak for guys he thinks are hot.

“Uh, okay, what do I remember?” Jason sets down his food, tilting his head back to look up towards the sky as if his answer is there. He begins to make the sounds of the words that he’s heard a million times; undoubtedly if a real French speaker were here they’d laugh their ass off at his attempt, but he tries it anyway. “Fuck- ce que j'ai fait, ce soir-là... ce qu'elle a dit, ce soir-là… réalisant mon espoir, je me lance, vers la gloire.”

“Impressive,” James tells him. “What does it mean?”

“No idea.”

James laughs. It’s a nice sound. 

As Jason takes a final sip of coke, he watches Lars and Kirk go running past where they’re sitting, the two of them darting through bystanders at breakneck speed. Jason instantly clues in to what’s happening.

“Oh, shit, they’re probably finalizing the scores,” he says, gathering up his trash to throw it out. “C’mon, man, let’s go.”

James nods, stuffing the last bite of his burger into his mouth. “Mhm- one, one sec,” 

“Dude,” Jason laughs, “We’re gonna miss it, hurry up.” He grabs’ James’ free hand, tugging a little, and James gets the hint and lets Jason pull him to his feet.

Swallowing, James pounds back the rest of his coke. “Fuck, okay, let’s go. Better be there when you win.”

Jason feels his cheeks heat. “Shut up, dude,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

He bumps his shoulder against James’. James bumps back.

+

A few weeks later, James meets up with Jason at the Del Mar competition. 

They have a tentative routine now; do runs, smoke cigarettes, maybe find food, and shoot the shit while they wait for everyone to be finished and for prizes to be given out. 

Jason wins this one, too, of course. James has heard it from others around him that whenever you’re up against Jason, you’re just happy if you get second place. It’s just about a goddamn miracle if you manage to catch him on an off day where he doesn’t win. Though he’s really, really fucking disciplined and practiced, so those days are rare. 

Real rare. James can probably count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Jason come in second. 

Where James is sitting on the trunk of his car, he can see the weird motormouth- Lars, he’s pretty sure- as well as the mousy cowed one, who he thinks is named Junior, walking with Jason across the lot. He knows he’s being a creep, watching and staring, but there’s nothing much else going on. Jason’s the most interesting thing to him at the moment.

It takes a while for the tiny fucker to finish his babbling, and by the time he’s done, Junior has already slipped away, saving himself, and Jason looks like he’s about ready to die. It’s a mercy when Lars finally bids Jason a hasty adieu and runs off elsewhere.

Which leaves Jason alone, which is what James has been waiting for. Jason begins to walk away until James calls out his name, raising his arm to wave at him. 

Whipping his head up, he spots James. A smile spreads across his lips, and then he jogs over. Something in James’ chest wells up. Jason looks. . . he looks really pretty, like that. Noticeably so. 

Standing in front of him, Jason puts a hand on his hip. “Hey! Whats up?”

“Congrats on your win, man.”

“Oh, well,” Jason averts his eyes and tilts his head away. James is pretty sure he’s blushing a little. “Thanks again.”

“I did have something I wanted to ask you, though,” James continues. “A hypothetical situation for you here.”

“Uh huh?” Jason looks genuinely perplexed.

“Let’s just say I have a six pack of Coors in my car, and let's just say I know a good place that overlooks the water. Would you, hypothetically of course, wanna come with me and chill?”

“Hypothetically, yes, that would be cool,” Jason replies, having caught on, his smile boyish and soft. 

A grin splits across James’ face. “Would you hypothetically wanna ditch your board and your pads in your car, and meet me back here and we can go?” 

Agreeing, Jason takes a few minutes to do just that. Somewhere in that span of time, he ditches his little board shorts and steps into a pair of ripped-up jeans. Maybe James is really just desperate or something, but he thinks to himself that it’s a good look on him as well.

“So, where are we heading out to?” Jason asks upon his return, as James hops off his trunk and begins rounding the car to get into the driver’s seat. Jason takes the initiative and opens the passenger side door, sliding into the seat. 

Buckling himself in, James grins. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” he teases, laughing as Jason rolls his eyes and makes an ‘ugh’ noise deep in his throat. But then he smiles nonetheless, and James takes it as his cue to get moving.

When he turns the ignition, the car starts and his stereo system kicks to life - playing Jason’s mixtape. 

“Is that- _dude_ ,” Jason grins, “You were serious?”

“Duh,” James says. He pulls out of the lot, turning onto the main road. “Why, you thought I was just making it up? Stroking your ego?”

Jason shrugs. “Just kinda figured nobody would be interested enough to like, actually do it.”

“Guess you were wrong.”

“Guess so,” Jason laughs, “Hang on, skip ahead, I like that track more.”

James does as asked, and Danzig’s _Soul on Fire_ begins. He cranks the volume, the two of them grinning as it blares from the speakers of James’ shitty stereo, so loud passersby on the streets stare at them in the car. 

He drives them along the beach. There’s an outlook spot father down along the boardwalk, one James knows is a little out of the ways. And, sure enough, when he pulls into the parking lot, it’s completely empty. Score.

The two of them get out, and James opens up his trunk and pulls out the case of beer. Then they sit on the hood, cracking open their cans, watching the waves roll on the shore, making lazy conversation about music and skateboarding. Somehow the conversation ends up drifting to horror; James doesn’t really remember how, but he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like it. 

“Dude, _The Thing_ was so fucking good,” Jason grins. He takes a sip from his can, waving his other hand around lazily as he talks. “Kirk- he’s one of the guys on my team- huge horror nerd. He’s talked about it so much I’ve, like, memorized it all, dude.”

James laughs. “Sounds like he’d get along well with Cliff. He’s into that thing, too- horror and shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. The special effects were killer, though.”

“Really?” James shakes his head. “I thought they were a little cheesy, to be honest.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Dude, c’mon, they were sweet. Just, like, the artistry behind it? Like, it's a little over the top. But that's what makes it so good.”

“Okay, that's fair,” James tells him, and takes a sip from his can. “Like, I saw _They Live_. I loved it but, like, yeah. Okay, I’m one to talk,” James concludes, and Jason giggles, leaning back to rest against the rear windshield. 

There’s a beat of silence between them as they watch the ocean roll onto the shore. The sky is dark, and he can hardly tell where the heavens end and where the water begins. When the Alva guys come out here, there’s never a moment of peace to sit and enjoy it. He’s glad that he’s here with Jason instead. 

Turning to look at his company, he watches as Jason tips his head all the way back and polishes his drink off. When he finishes, he crunches the can and tosses it into a nearby trash can. It lands with a clang. 

“Hey,” he says, sitting up and whipping his head to look at James. He wears a coy grin, and eyes that convey that he has an idea, and James isn’t sure how ready he is to hear it until- “You wanna go skinny dipping?”

James is in the middle of taking a drink and he nearly chokes on it. 

“What?”

“Lets go!” Jason says, and then gets up off the trunk. Without waiting for an answer, he begins to take his shirt off. 

James wasn’t expecting this, and so he’s a bit stunned. “Wait, really?”

Unknotting his laces, Jason says, emphatically, " _Yes_ , now come on!”

Well shit. Okay. He’s never actually gone skinny dipping before, mostly because he’s never had opportunity, so his shock is mostly born from being side swiped with the suggestion. Though there’s no time like the present, he supposes. Guess he’s doing this. After chugging the rest of his beer, he stands, and begins stripping.

By the time he starts, Jason’s already naked and gone out to wander in the sand as he waits for James to catch up. First his shirt, then shoes and socks, and pants, and finally his underwear. 

The air is cool against his skin, but it feels good, a nice break from the heat of the day. James expected to feel awkward about this, exposed and vulnerable, but actually, he finds it really freeing. Even though he wasn’t planning on it, he’s glad Jason suggested it.

Jason stands out on the sand, looking out to the sea. In the ocean breeze, his curls whip where they lay against his shoulder blades, and under the bright moon and the lights that edge the boardwalk, his pale skin glows. It’s strange, but James cannot help but observe the silhouette of his back, the curve of his waist as it flows down to his hips, and over his ass, to the sharp angles of his legs. 

Jason looks very. . . beautiful. 

He turns to look at James, and James is startled, afraid to have been caught staring. In a lame save, he tries to pretend to have been looking out to the sea. If Jason noticed, he doesn’t mention it. “Ready?”

And James steps across the boardwalk into the sand, joining Jason. 

Wordlessly, Jason begins to run, like the ocean can’t wait for him. James runs after him, and they both begin shouting and laughing as they meet the water. When it hits their knees, they dive into it. The chill of the water reaches every corner of his body, invigorates him. When he surfaces for his first gasp of air, James feels very, very alive. 

“Fuck, that's cold,” Jason laughs. He pushes his wet curls out of his eyes. James splashes a little bit of water at him, snickering as Jason gasps. “Hey, asshole, that wasn't called for!”

He's grinning, though, curls long and wavy thanks to the water. James takes it as encouragement to splash him again.

“You're gonna fucking get it, man-”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” James pitches his voice up in some horrible attempt at mockery. “Whatever will I do-”

Jason splashes him, hard. Water sprays across James’ face, and he splutters a little, caught off guard. 

Wiping his face, James lunges forwards, tackling Jason into the water with a huge splash. Jason’s half-yelp, half-laugh is cut off as they crash below the surface, everything going dark and chilled. 

When they surface, Jason's laughing. His hands are wrapped around James’ arms, fingers cold and strong, the two of them close enough that James can see Jason's bare skin covered in goosebumps from the chill, shoulders covered with freckles and a lingering sunburn.

James blinks. His cheeks heat. Jason swallows; James watches his lips part, his eyelashes flutter. He can see Jason’s eyes looking at James’ own lips. His heart clenches. 

Everything in James’ mind screams _'kiss him, dummy!'_ , and it takes all of his energy to bite back that urge, because he has no clue how Jason’s gonna respond. What would he do if he did? Push him away, call him sick? Lean in to return it? How would those shapely lips feel, pressing back against his?

While he wants to know, it’s too much to risk. He has a good thing going here, and he’d hate to ruin it for nothing. 

Suddenly, Jason moves and dunks him under the water. It startles James out of his thoughts entirely, the cold shocking him out of his haze. He comes up for air, spluttering and clumsily wiping water out of his eyes.

“You motherfucker,” James laughs. Jason’s grinning, and it gets wiped off his face when James jumps on him to pull them both under.

───

After James drops him off at his car, he tells him when and where they can meet up at the next competition, and then he drives off.

Jason hopes he’s not imagining things. When they were at the beach, and in the water, he swears there was a moment. Something, like electricity, was conducting between them. Snapping together like magnets.

He was looking at James’ lips, and thinking about leaning in, about throwing caution to the wind. Jason swears that James was doing the same. 

Since they’d started hanging around each other, he’d started developing… something for him. He likes being with him, because James really is one of the coolest people he’s met in a while, and they have so much in common. He thinks that James might feel the same about him, because Jason feels like he’s been getting some of those vibes. One of those times was tonight, as they orbited each other, and it felt like they were waiting for the other to move, but neither did. He wasn’t willing to take that chance, not just yet, and he didn’t want to make things awkward if he got it wrong. 

There was a moment of this stillness, this hovering, for too long, so Jason broke up the tension and splashed him. To give himself an out. 

As Jason wrings his hair and lets whatever remaining water still clinging in his locks to drip down to the asphalt, he thinks to himself that maybe next time, he won’t find an out and just do it if he has the chance. 

Better to try and see what happens than live without knowing, he thinks. 

Jason looks forward to seeing James again. 

+

James takes a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to curl out of his mouth into the warm evening air.

The competition is long finished; yet another one for the books, scores tallied up ages ago. He didn't get a chance to hang out with Jason earlier, thanks to some scheduling issues, and he’s a little disappointed about it. 

Kind of sad, actually. Jason's fun and whip-smart, and his energy is infectious. Each time they hang out, James just wants a little more.

It's been well over a month since that first fateful day Jason came up to bum one of his cigs. James is slightly impressed by how easygoing Jason is; fucked-up tricks and bruises and rivalries don't even faze him, just roll off his back. What James wouldn't give to be able to do that so effortlessly.

He blows smoke out of his mouth. James sighs. He misses Jason. A lot, actually.

Leaning on the trunk of Dave’s beat-to-shit car, James crosses one foot over the other. The sun’s just beginning to go down, the air still sort of hot, only the slightest breeze from the ocean wafting over where they’re hanging out in the parking lot. Behind him, Nick kicks his feet, dirty sneakers banging against the bumper, all thunk-thunk-thunk.

Cliff’s gone home; date with his girlfriend, or something. Selfishly, James wishes he hadn’t, ‘cause Cliff’s always been good at balancing out Dave and Nick’s obnoxious natures.

“Quit it,” Dave drawls. He smacks at Nick’s arm. “Gonna make the bumper fall off again.”

Nick laughs. “Not my fault your car’s a piece of shit.”

Dave punches him on the arm this time, _hard_. Yelping, Nick scooches to the side, nearly pushing James over. He rubs hastily at his arm where James knows there’s going to be a nasty purple bruise tomorrow.

“Jesus, knock it off,” James huffs. He flicks some ash off the end of his cig. “Dumbasses.”

He goes back to watching the rest of the spectators in the parking lot; the tailgating is just kicking into gear, and he watches kids across the lot share beers and pass joints back and forth, hanging out the back of rusted-out trucks, all of them tanned and sun-kissed thanks to the warm Cali weather.

“Look who it is,” Dave suddenly leers. “Fuckin’ Newdick. Come to grace us with his presence.”

Sure enough, Jason’s making his way across the parking lot, board tucked under one arm, twirling the keys of his car on his other finger. He’s pulled his hair back into a ponytail, and James’ eyes are drawn to the smooth expanses of his skin thanks to the tiny red shorts and white muscle tee he’s wearing.

Nick’s laughter grates on James’ ears. “Jesus, those are slutty fucking shorts.”

James swallows hard. 

Dave snickers. “Think I could talk him into sucking my dick?”

Jason doesn’t hear any of it, so when he comes up, he’s smiling. “James! Good run today, man. I was about to head out for dinner, and ‘cause we didn’t get a chance to hang earlier, you wanna come with?” As Jason speaks, James can see the slow turn of the other guys’ heads with their unspoken judgement. “I could drop you off later, too,” Jason finishes, shaking his keys absentmindedly in twitchy fingers.

God, why did he have to ask in front of Dave and Nick? James wants to say yes, hell yeah, let’s eat and talk about horror movies or music again, but he can’t accept in front of his team mates. It’s almost like the Alva Posse’s hobby to shit on the Bones Brigade; the punk grungy world James comes from was never intended to mix with the bright colors and too many pads and mainstream tastes that the Bones Brigade exists in. 

Even if Jason seems to be different from the rest, different enough for James to have liked him and sought out his company. Dave and Nick and the rest of the Alva guys would never let him live it down. 

Fuck. 

It hurts him, but he makes himself say it anyway. He feigns confusion as he tells him, “Dude, what? Get out of here, man.” James tries to make his pushing as light as he can. Minimizing damage where he’s being forced to make it. 

Jason recoils like he’s been slapped. “What do you mean?” 

“Ugh, come on, Newdick,” James groans, and it’s already painful. “I talk to you, what, a few times and you think we’re best buddies all of a sudden?” The guilt and shame settles heavily in his gut. It makes his mouth go dry and threatens to choke him up. Dave and Nick are looking at him with raised eyebrows. Addressing his guys, James mock-sneers. “God, fucking obsessed much?”

Jason’s face falls, twists into a frown, and his brow knits. He realizes what James is doing. Taking a step back, he shakes his head. “So we’re just going to pretend that we don’t know each other? Haven’t been hanging out?” His eyes are dopey and hurt under his bangs.

It’s a monumental effort for James to hurt him, but under the watchful eyes of Dave and Nick, he has no choice. Swallowing his guilt, he mumbles, “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

Jason shifts from one foot to the other. “You’re really gonna just diss me and play pretend in front of your friends like that?”

James stays quiet.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Jason spits. “You’re an asshole and a coward.”

Dave sneers. “This is fucking pathetic,” he drawls. “You’re just embarrassing yourself, man. Get lost.”

Jason’s face twists, like he’s seriously about to start crying. How badly James wants to take it all back. Clenching his board up underneath his arm, Jason turns to run towards his car across the lot. The three Alva guys turn to watch him go.

As Dave and Nick yell at his back, their mixed voices of ‘keep going, motherfucker!’ and ‘fucking loser!’, James watches in silence. 

At least when Nero burned Rome, he was playing a fiddle. All James has is a shitty cigarette. There’s no dignity and certainly no triumph.

Jason’s right. He’s an asshole.

───

Jason knows he's a moron. 

It's what he gets for maybe thinking James would be different. He put his hand between the dog’s teeth like a fool, thinking he wasn't gonna get bitten, and now he's bleeding.

The road seems to waver in front of him, although Jason's pretty sure it's because of the tears in his eyes. He tries to choke it back, white-knuckling the wheel, sniffling pathetically. 

He has to pull into a gas station. 

Parking in the lot nearby, Jason pauses. Then he punches the steering wheel, wincing as the horn blares. Lolling his head forwards, he covers his face with his hands, a sob wrenching out of his throat.

All he can see is James’ face, the disgust and mockery. It makes him sick, that he was stupid enough to think James would ever want to talk to him, that he was dumb enough to fall for his easy charm.

The radio’s playing; 10cc’s _I’m Not In Love._

Fitting.


	2. possessed to skate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pissing off Jason could be seen as either a good thing or a bad thing.

Rolling out of bed, James takes a second to rub the crust from his eyes.

A glance at the clock on the night table tells him it’s almost one. He grabs the half-empty water bottle next to it, finishing it all in a couple gulps before he crushes the plastic in his hand.

Cliff’s still asleep in the other bed, snoring quietly where he’s smothered under all the blankets. As James looks around, he realizes Dave and Nick never even made it to the beds last night; instead, Dave’s on the couch, snoring so loud it sounds like he’s got a hole in his throat, and Nick’s laying face-down on the grody carpet.

Fucking nasty.

James steps over him carefully on his way to the bathroom. He takes a detour to grab some clothes out of his suitcase, pushing the door to the bathroom open and wincing as the hinges squeak. Looking at himself in the mirror, James winces at the bags under his bloodshot eyes.

He peels off his boxers, tossing them aside. James turns the shower on, stepping in once the water’s hot enough.

Competitions always make him a little nervous; it’s an age-old thing, something he’s never really been able to avoid. It doesn’t help that he’s always been the kind of person who gets easily wound-up, either. James lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders untensing a little thanks to the hot water.

By the time he’s finished showering, the mirror is fogged with steam. James towel-dries his hair and gets dressed, his hair still slightly damp and wetting the back of his shirt.

In the main room, Dave's sitting at the shitty table in the corner, squinting against the bright sunlight coming through the blinds as he smokes. The table’s covered in junk, ranging from greasy fast-food bags to janky, crumpled issues of Thrasher.

The rest of the hotel room is in a similar state of disarray; basically, it's a fucking disaster. Nick’s still sleeping on the floor next to Dave’s dirty laundry, because Dave never zipped up his goddamn suitcase properly and left his shit all over the place.

James pushes aside a torn-up copy of Playboy gingerly. He winces as it gets stuck to the lino. Silently, James prays there isn't anything else stuck between the pages. He pulls a chair out and slumps down.

Cliff’s voice pipes up. “You seen who we’re skating against?”

“Uh,” James mumbles, “Nah. Haven't really looked at the program. Who gives a shit?”

Cliff scoffs. “Who _gives a shit?_ ”

“I mean, yeah, I know it’s a couple of the Bones guys, but we can take them, man.”

That gets a laugh out of Cliff, as if that’s the funniest goddamn thing he’s heard all day. James turns to look at where he’s still lying in bed but awake, carefully rolling himself a joint on the tray from room service. “Think you might wanna check, _dumbass._ ‘Cause you're not skating against Hammett or Ulrich.”

James frowns. Then it clicks.

“Oh, _shit._ ”

“Yeah,” Dave leers, because he’s an asshole. “He's gonna kick your ass, man. Gonna wipe the fuckin’ floor with you.”

“Shut up,” James says. He picks at a fingernail. “Fuck.”

What the fuck is he going to do now? All of that cockiness and confidence he’d felt earlier is long gone, replaced only with a heavy sense of dread. Not only because he knows Jason's the better skateboarder, better than _all_ of them, hands-down, Bones Brigade’s number one, but also because the last time they talked it wasn’t particularly pleasant. Seeing him in person again makes him anxious.

Great.

Dave ashes his cigarette, brushing orange hair out of his face. “Y’know what, I'd pay to see him all shaken up, man,” he drawls. “Just fuck with that stuck-up bitch.”

“Not stuck-up,” Cliff says. “He's not, like, a dick like you. Just serious.”

Flipping Cliff the bird, Dave rolls his eyes at the raspy laughter he gets. “Fuck off. Whatever. I wanna fuck him up.”

James frowns. “Like, I think we'll get disqualified if we do that.” He tries to look for any way to weasel his way out of this, but Dave is not one to be out-weaseled.

“Figuratively, dickweed.”

“And how,” Cliff interjects, “Are you gonna do this?”

Dave shrugs. “Let's just razz him. Throw him off his game.”

James looks at Cliff; Cliff shrugs, seeming not to care. Then he looks back at Dave.

“Like how?”

“Well, for one, I ain't gonna be doing it,” Dave smirks. “You are.”

James blanches. “What.”

“You heard me, Hetfield.”

“The fuck? Why?”

Dave snickers. “Oh, c’mon, you're telling me you haven't noticed the way Newfuck is always staring at you? Not to mention the way he came up to you the other day? He’s got it bad for you, man. It’s so fucking obvious it's pathetic.”

James swallows hard. For some reason, that information makes his guts squirm. His face feels ridiculously hot. He’d been trying to forget about Jason since he royally fucked up whatever friendship they had going on before, but this brings him right back to the forefront of James’ mind in a horribly uncomfortable way. He plays a little dumb. “You're fucking with me.”

“Nah,” Dave says, “I’m honest. You just gotta rattle him, man. Use that to your advantage. Bet if you play with him he'll be putty.”

Looking over at Cliff, James searches his expression for any indication that he’s going to interject and say that he shouldn’t listen to Dave, considering that Cliff tends to be a pretty reliable bullshit filter. Give him an excuse not to feel pushed to go. When he finds nothing, Cliff more preoccupied with lighting up than James’ bizarre guilt, he sighs.

If that’s the way it’s gonna be, then James has no intention of fucking with Newsted any further. If anything it’ll give them a chance to talk and clear the air a little. “Fine, I’ll do it. Gimme the keys.”

“Atta boy,” Dave drawls. He stubs his cigarette out on the cover of the Playboy mag, right between Pamela Anderson’s tits. “Bring us back something from the vending machine when you're done.”

James flips Dave off before the door closes behind him.

───

It doesn’t bode well when James Hetfield casually crosses the hotel parking lot to where Jason is attempting to grind against the edge of the fire lane curb.

Hopping off his board and kicking it up into his hand, he turns to face the Alva intruder. Jason has half a mind to go back to his room and avoid this guy until they get to the Pool Party later. Though he doesn’t; his light grin and the way his golden hair glows like a halo as he jogs towards him roots him to the spot. While Jason hopes it's genuine, wishes it was, his more rational, cautious mind brings his hands to hold his skateboard over his belly, a defensive gesture.

He’ll listen to him, but once bitten, twice shy. He’ll bolt if need be. Like hell he’s gonna let himself get hurt by this asshole again.

As he walks up, the grungy blonde puts his hands up as though in surrender. “I didn’t come to start anything,” James says, before he brings his hands down to tuck them in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Just came to wish you luck before we throw down.”

Yeah right, Jason thinks. The Alva Posse doesn’t roll that way. He tried being nice to James, and look what that got him. Nothing but heartache and grief. None of the Alva guys work in good faith, as much as Jason wishes James could’ve been the exception. James must want something.

“Is that so?” Jason asks, making sure he sounds as disingenuous and untrusting as possible. He shifts his weight onto his hip and cocks his head.

“It’s the sportsmanship-like thing to do,” James tells him.

The broken fingers that Mustaine gave Kirk after rolling over his hand a couple months ago, as well as the penalties Nick garnered from trying to swat Lars’ board during his Ollie McTwist at the vert desert brawl, is an indication of how much sportsmanship the Alva Posse tends to show. And James cannot be separated from being a part of that, because that’s who he sides with at the end of the day.

“Uh-huh.”

James raises an eyebrow, as if he’s expecting something more. “That's all you're gonna say?”

“Thanks,” Jason says. He makes sure to drag it out, sarcastic as possible. “Whatever would I do without your generosity. Is that better?”

“Jesus, Dave was right. You really are a stuck-up bitch.”

Jason frowns. His hands tighten around his board, knuckles going white. “Asshole. You Alva guys are all dickheads with no fucking talent to boot. Fuck off, dude, I’m just trying to skate.”

“Yeah, like you're God’s gift,” James taunts, his eyebrows knitting together. “That's your thing, isn't it? Everybody’s riding your dick ‘cause you're so great. What, do you have to suck off the judges for those scores?”

And that's-

“Fuck you,” Jason spits. He's pissed, now. “I’m over this bullshit. Hope you break your fucking tailbone, dickhead.”

As Jason turns on his heel to begin walking away, he hears James behind him snort a laugh. “Fuckin’ pussy. C’mon, Newshit, just gonna walk away like a little bitch?”

Throwing down his board onto the hot concrete, he’s done being the bigger man. Whipping back around, Jason lunges at James, and he’s ready to catch a murder charge, he swears to God he fucking will. James is hilariously unprepared for his outburst, isn’t expecting Jason to crash into him, and the two of them hit the ground.

With James on his back, Jason straddles his hips, and with one hand, lifts him up by the lapel of his leather jacket. Then he swiftly punches him in the face. Blood instantly gushes out of James’ nose, trailing over his lips and down his chin. As Jason winds up to punch him again, James lifts his knee up to angle his hip to shake him off his lap, and rolls them so the roles are reversed; Jason on his back, and James with a thigh between his legs.

What James received he gives right back, hand colliding with his mouth in a wicked crack. The taste of copper floods on his tongue. Jason grits his teeth, less so at the pain, and more at the fucking fury that fills him.

“Perfect Bones boy,” James growls at him. “You look good bleeding underneath me.”

“Fuck you,” Jason snaps, as he begins to try to crawl out from underneath James, though James wraps his hands around his forearms and pins him firmly against the pavement. Huffing frustratedly, Jason tries to wiggle his way free, bucking his hips, and oh, that’s a half-chub digging into his thigh.

Holy shit.

Jason freezes. James must realize what’s up, because he blinks, his mouth falling open a little and his face turning pink. For a moment, all they can think to do is look dumbly at each other. Jason swallows hard, distantly aware of the way his skin prickles and the way sweat beads on the back of his neck.

And, worst of all, the fact that he’s hard in his jeans.

James shifts a little. His fingers dig into his wrists. Jason has to bite down a groan. And then James’ thigh presses between his legs, and his eyes go wide, and Jason wants to melt straight through the ground or burst into flames or maybe dissipate entirely. Whatever gets him out of this situation fastest.

“Dude,” James says. He blinks stupidly. “Dude.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason bites out. “You- you started this, dude, what the fuck-”

“You’re hard!”

“Dude, you are too! Like- fuck you!”

“Fuck me yourself,” James says, and then he smashes their lips together.

Jason’s first reaction is shock, and confusion, and the thought of if this is really the time to indulge in his major fucking crush on this asshole, but the insistent push of James’ lips takes that train of thought and totally derails it, and Jason begins to kiss him back.

It’s ridiculously good; James’ lips are warm, and the way he bites and licks into Jason’s mouth is overwhelming. All Jason can focus on is the slick slide of his lips against James’, his mind reduced to mush, because James might be an asshole, but fuck if he isn’t a good kisser.

Someone’s car honks in the distance, and Jason’s hazy brain catches up with what he’s doing: making out with an Alva guy (admittedly a hot Alva guy) in broad daylight, in a parking lot, covered in blood. God forbid if any of the Bones Brigade or Alva Posse or _anyone_ caught them right now. It would be a _disaster._ Executed for high treason, or worse, excommunicated from the team.

Jason pulls back. A little strand of spit breaks and snaps against his bloody lip. “I- what the fuck?”

James frowns. “What?”

Shoving James off, Jason feels his face burn. He scooches backwards on his ass, putting a couple feet between them. “What the hell is your problem? First you come down here trying to play at being nice, then you’re a dick, and now you’re fucking with me? You’re a jackass-”

“That’s rich coming from you-”

“Fuck off,” Jason spits. He gets to his feet, grabbing his board. Then he swipes roughly at his chin and mouth, trying to clean away some of the blood and get the taste of the other man off his lips. His stomach twists, and he feels nauseous and light-headed from anger and fear. “I’m not a fucking plaything, okay? I- I can’t believe you’d- you know what? Go _fuck_ yourself.”

He storms off. James shouts something, but Jason’s so pissed he doesn’t even hear him.

That’s a new low; he thinks James is hot, gets close to him, starts feeling things for him, and he just gets fucking screwed. James probably thought it was funny. Jason feels his eyes prickle, and he bites his lip hard, ‘cause he’s not gonna get upset over that asshole. He’s _not._

He’s gonna fucking _kill_ James. Jason resolves that by the end of the night, he’s gonna make James wish he never even looked at a goddamn skateboard. He’s going to turn this righteous anger into a fucking win at the competition, so help him God.

───

The competition is the same; sweltering heat, blaring music, shouts and cheers and screams. Except now James is actively avoiding Jason. He’d caught a glimpse of him earlier, across the parking lot, and as soon as he’d seen Jason’s face his heart had dropped to somewhere between his stomach and his intestines, because he’d looked so fucking mad it’d kind of scared him.

Especially because James knows he's the cause of it all.

And now, standing off to the sidelines as the vert runs begin, James is starting to have some serious regrets. Mostly he’s trying to stare at Jason without being caught; looking out of the corner of his eyes, trying to appear disinterested, because a small part of him is almost scared to confront Jason at all.

So. He’s a little worried. James curses Dave in his head; he just had to get strongarmed into fucking with Jason, just had to dig himself a deeper hole.

Then Dave jabs him in the ribs out of nowhere. James startles. Dave leans in to shout in his ear, fiddling with the chinstrap of his helmet.

 _Speak of the devil_ , James thinks bitterly.

“Dude, what’d you do to Newsted? He looks like he’s ready to fuckin’ skin someone.”

And he does. He’s perched at the top of the vert, hands on his hips with his foot anchoring his board at the edge, waiting for his teammates’ run to end so he can start his next. He looks stern, focused, determined, and pissed as hell.

James shrugs Dave off. “Nothing. Did what you asked me to.” Which is true, kind of, except he thinks he did it wrong, ‘cause he gets the feeling that Jason is about to show them all up. Though he doesn’t mention that to Dave.

Dave snorts a laugh. “Yeah, you fucked up, man. Nice going, dumbass.”

Soon enough, one of the other Bones guys finishes his run when he lands on his feet at the top of the coping with _Snowblind_ by Black Sabbath fading out. James watches as Jason lines up on the edge in anticipation, fiddling with his chinstrap as he waits for his tape to start. From here, he can see the remnants of their fight evident in Jason’s swollen lip. The pain in his nose, forgotten before, flares up again and throbs.

The announcer’s voices crackle over the loudspeakers.

“ _And, queuing up, skating for Powell-Peralta: Jason Newsted!_ ”

Then the music comes on, the twang of the opening notes of the Dead Kennedy’s _Too Drunk to Fuck_ blaring through the speakers. It’s at that moment that James has the distinct feeling that he’s _screwed._

He briefly covers his face with a hand, but spreads his fingers to look through. He ruined everything; the least he can do is be man enough to watch the consequences.

Jason drops into the ramp. He's fucking _fast_ , shooting up the other side and smoothly grinding the edge before dropping back in.

James can only watch as Jason proceeds to absolutely fucking destroy them. His run is fluid, chock-full of tricks that have the crowd screaming and cheering for him. It makes his jaw drop like an absolute idiot, ‘cause James is pretty sure he can’t do half the shit Jason does during his run.

It's ridiculous; James feels his heart sink into his stomach as Jason winds up for the last trick of his run. He watches Jason fly up, executing a seamless 720 in the last couple seconds, and the crowd goes fucking apeshit.

“ _And that’s it for Jason Newsted! What a run! Let’s see if anybody can top a routine like that! Now we’re just waiting for that score._ ”

James watches as Jason goes to greet his guys waiting for him on their opposite side. The tiny weird foreign one, Lars, beams and pulls him into a huge hug.

The announcers’ voices return: “ _Alright! And that's- holy toledo, that's a 94 for Jason Newsted!_ ”

Great. Wonderful.

Dave hits his shoulder, and gives him a smarmy, sardonic grin, because he knows that James has perfectly fucked himself. “Good luck, man,” he says. It's unspoken; _you’ll need it_. “Catch you later.”

James nods and exhales a heavy breath. Something comes over him right then; a stubbornness, a self-possession.

No. No fucking way. He’ll be damned if he’s going to let Newsted throw him off his game. He’s a good fucking skater and he knows it. He has a solid routine down that he’s practiced and scored well on. He can beat Jason. Yeah, totally. He's got this one.

Centering himself as he climbs up the ramp, he cracks his knuckles, and all of the tension and trepidation gives way to confidence and tenacity he’s hardly ever felt before. _Fuck him._ He’ll show him.

───

Jason takes a sip of Gatorade. Next to him, Kirk fiddles with the cap of his bottle, helmet resting on his knees.

“That run was- was killer, dude,” Kirk grins. “Seriously, what got into you? You looked- looked fucking pissed, man. Like someone ran over your dog.”

“Dunno,” Jason lies, “Weird rush of motivation, I guess.”

Kirk nods. “Fuck, yeah. Wish I could've had that, man. That Menza guy is pretty tough.”

Jason knocks his shoulder against Kirk’s, getting a laugh.

The rest of the Bones crew have finished. Now it's just Alva rounding out their runs, and James is up on the coping, waiting for some tall guy to finish.

He knows there's no chance anyone's beating his run. It'd take the Alva guys a miracle to top his score. Not cocky, just fact. Grass is green, birds fly, and he’s the best fucking athlete in the game, hands down. Not to mention that’s the top score he’s ever received on that routine before.

Brushing his curls out of his eyes, Jason holds a hand up to block the sun, watching James at the top of the vert as he readjusts his knee pads.

“ _Alright! And that's it for Cliff Burton, with a score of 85. Up next, we’ve got James Hetfield in the queue to finish us off._ ”

The opening notes of _Bad Penny_ by Big Black come grinding out, and James cracks his neck to the left, and to the right, and then he’s gone.

Jason watches James’ run. While he's fluid and he's definitely got the power for some impressive air time, his tricks are basic. Well performed and in good form, but nothing groundbreaking.

A wicked little grin curls at the corner of Jason’s mouth, and he’s feeling smug. Ha.

Karma.

James’ run finishes with a backside invert and he slides down the ramp on his knee pads, sweaty and out of breath, his chest visibly heaving.

“ _Solid run from James Hetfield! Those were some tasty verts. Let's see what the judges have to say. . ._ ”

There’s a brief pause as the scores get scraped together. James picks himself up and drags himself over to sit next to his guys on the sidelines, who greet him with whoops and cheers and hard slaps on the back. Dave pulls him in close as they wait, and wait, and then-

“ _Okay, folks, the results are in; that's a round 90 from the judges!_ ”

Jason glances over at the Alva bench; he catches James’ eyes, taking in the disappointment and frustration clearly written across his face.

Then he gives James a wink.

───

When James sees Jason in the hallway of the hotel that night, halfway to the vending machines, he’s not really sure what compels him to shout his name.

Especially when Jason just slaughtered the entire Alva team and made it look effortless. James shouldn’t want to talk to him. He’s got no fucking clue where any of his impulse control’s gone, although he figures it might have something to do with the fact that he is so, _so_ fucking pissed.

It’s stupid; it’s reckless; it’s making him look like an absolute moron. But, y’know. He’s always been a shoot-first, ask-questions-later kind of guy.

Jason’s head jerks up in surprise. Then those dopey grey eyes narrow and go sharp, and James kind of feels himself wilt at how fucking mad he looks. Just a little, though. It’s not enough to stop him, not when he’s seeing red at this point.

“Oh, it’s you,” Jason scowls. “Thanks for giving me the extra motivation to curbstomp you motherfuckers. Could’ve done it without you, but hey, the help was nice.” His tone comes across as sarcastically sweet, practically oozing venom.

James blinks dumbly. His nails dig into the meat of his palms. “You fucking cunt,” he spits, “You got lucky, the only reason you won was ‘cause you can do a couple tricks that are just blatant jerk-off material. Big deal.”

Jason snorts a laugh. “Last I checked, you gotta know how to do more than a Madonna to actually be competitive in vert. But, y’know. Considering you can hardly do that, I’m not surprised.”

That makes James bristle. He’s a little shocked that Jason’s going straight for the jugular; then he clenches his jaw, striding forwards, hands curling into fists. Jason freezes, his whole body radiating anger, his eyes heavy with warning. He’s smaller than James, and skinnier too, but he looks furious, and a small part of James’ brain warns him that if he keeps prodding, Jason’s gonna bite back.

He ignores that part of his brain.

“You fucking shithead-”

“What a joke,” Jason snarks. “Someone can dish it out but they can’t take it, huh? Who’s the pussy now?”

And that’s the fuel James needs to snap, the motivation he needs to pound the motherfucker into the ground. He grabs Jason by the front of his t-shirt, slamming his shoulders up against the wall. Jason grunts, scrabbling wildly, his knee jerking up; James narrowly dodges it, throwing his weight against Jason to pin him in place.

“Jesus, get- get _off_ me,” Jason spits, writhing clumsily, “Fuckin’ dick, I swear to god-”

“Just- shut up,” James says heatedly. “Shut up.”

Jason swallows. “Fuck you-”

Then he chokes as James’ arm digs into his throat. Jason squirms, giving up once he realizes he can’t overpower James.

This close, James’ attention is entirely fixated on Jason’s lips. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t think Jason’s hot; he’d also be a filthy fucking liar if he tried to deny that he’s entertained the thought of fucking him, jerked off to the idea. James is so caught up in staring at Jason, lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice the way Jason’s eyes go wide in shock.

“Oh my god,” Jason says, and his mouth starts to turn up into a smirk. “You _like_ me.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up-”

Snickering, Jason grabs his face. “Yeah. Shut the fuck up,” he murmurs, and then he kisses James.

James’ remaining brain cells fizzle out. It takes him a second to comprehend what’s happening, everything freezing like he hit pause on the VCR, before it all speeds up again and comes smashing into him at break-neck speed.

Jason’s kissing him. Jason. Kissing him. James blinks dumbly, and when Jason bites his bottom lip, he remembers to kiss back. There’s fingers lacing in his hair at the back of his head, a tongue tracing the corners of his mouth.

And fuck, it’s good. Better than he could’ve ever imagined. Better than that joke of a kiss they had in the parking lot. This is more real, with James wanting him and Jason wanting him back. He presses his lips harder against Jason’s, allowing the kiss to become more open mouthed, sloppy and dirty, just the way he likes it most.

Eventually, Jason pulls back, and gives him a look that absolutely matches what he says next. “Wanna- wanna come up to my room or something?”

If James thought his brain was a VHS, the tape is beginning to come unspooled. Holy fucking shit.

James smashes his lips against Jason’s and promptly forgets absolutely everything as his mind is reduced to mush.

Somehow, they manage to stumble their way to Jason's hotel room, hands up the backs of shirts and teeth set in tender skin, footsteps clumsy because neither of them are willing to let go for even a moment.

Pushing Jason down onto the bed, James lets out a startled sound as Jason pulls him down with him. James manages to prop himself up with his hands on either side of Jason's head. He blinks dumbly, his mouth drying up.

Jason's face is flushed pink, his eyes heavy-lidded. He looks all soft and loose, ridiculously _pretty_ where he’s sprawled across the bed. James’ eyes are drawn to the sliver of skin where his t-shirt’s started to ride up his stomach.

“Jesus, are you gonna do something or just fucking stare?”

James rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he grouses, having to bite his bottom lip as Jason palms him through his shorts. “Fucking impatient.”

“Wouldn't be if you just fucking- _shit,_ moved,” Jason groans. His eyes flutter shut as James roughly tweaks one of his nipples through his shirt. “Just- c’mon, fuck-”

“Yeah, yeah,” James mutters. “Needy motherfucker.”

The feeling of Jason's hands, one tangling in his hair and the other clutching at his shoulder, blunt nails digging in through his shirt, is nearly too much. James smashes their mouths together, stifling a loud moan from Jason as he gropes at Jason's dick through his shorts.

It's all teeth and spit, their lips uncoordinated as they pant into each others’ mouths, breaths stuttering as hands wander.

James feels his eyes roll back as Jason's hand pulls his waistband down, fingers wrapping around his dick. He has to sink his teeth into Jason's neck to muffle a moan, throaty and desperate, as Jason rubs his thumb under the head.

“Now who's needy,” Jason gasps. His shit-eating grin is quickly wiped away as James tugs his shorts and boxers down his thighs roughly. They get tangled around his knees; James doesn't give a shit. He spits in his hand and grabs Jason's cock, strokes fast and just slick enough that Jason _whines._ “Shit- _oh,_ fuck-”

“Think that's you,” James snickers. “Slut.”

He grinds his hips down, breaths stuttering at how fucking good it feels. James is pretty sure his dick is leaking precum all over Jason's belly, and he fucking loves it.

James squeezes Jason's cock, sucking hickeys under his jawline. He has to balance over Jason on his other hand, planted next to his head, in order to lean in and kiss him again. Their lips seal together insistently as their hands stroke in sync.

Jason moans when he pulls back for air. “Wait- do it like this.”

Pushing his hips up, Jason wraps his hand around both their dicks. And _oh_ , that's- that's fucking _good._ James feels the breath catch in his throat.

“Fuck- fuck.”

“Yeah,” Jason gasps. His grin is crooked. “You look good like this.”

James grits his teeth. He lets his other hand wrap around Jason's throat, palm pressing against warm, hickey-covered skin. Jason groans. “Think I like you like this better. Fuckin’ mouthy asshole.”

Jason’s head tips back against the sheets, exposing more of his neck to James, his mouth falling open.

It might as well be surrender; Jason’s gone belly-up, limp and pliant underneath James’ weight where James is straddling his thighs. Part of him loves seeing Jason desperate for it, wants to knock him around and make him bleed, ruin him and have him coming back for more. His mind runs rampant with fantasies of Jason on his knees, Jason bent over the edge of the bed, hands fisting in the sheets, all slick-hot press of skin-

Fuck.

James moves his hand so that he can hold both of their dicks near the head, fingers loosely wrapping around slick skin. He feels his eyelashes flutter at the sensation of Jason’s cock rubbing against his, so unbelievably intimate it's ridiculous.

All he can focus on is Jason below him, lips swollen and red from kissing, his eyes scrunched-shut from pleasure. James feels that heat in the pit of his stomach coalesce, a droplet of sweat trailing down his back.

It's too hot in the room, heavy with need. The bed squeaks underneath them with their movements, with the clumsy rut of their hips and their uncoordinated, aggressive kisses.

Jason’s lip is bleeding again; James can’t look away, his head swimming at the taste, heavy on his tongue, the way blood wells up shiny and bright on Jason’s lip, spreading in his mouth.

“M’gonna,” Jason moans. James watches his back arch up off the bed, pushing his hips up into James’. His hip bones poke up through pale, sweaty skin. James wants to suck a bunch of big, fat hickeys all over them. “Fuck, James--”

James speeds up the rolls of his hips. Precum dribbles all over his fingers. “Yeah, c’mon,” he gasps out, “Fuck, c’mon-”

Jason’s free hand scrabbles at the sheets, fingers digging in as his breath hitches. James squeezes a little at his throat, and the punched-out noise he gets for it might as well be fucking music, it’s that good.

They’re sloppy, recklessly chasing their highs. James licks his way into Jason’s mouth, their kisses dissolved to the uncoordinated press of lips, hips bucking wildly into that silky-hot friction of their hands.

It only takes a few more passes of his hand before Jason kind of stiffens up, his eyes rolling back under his heavy eyelids. “James- oh, fuck,” he moans, “Fuck, fuck-”

Biting down on his collarbone, James feels more than hears the way Jason cries out, his back bowing up off the bed as he comes all over his stomach. The sudden friction and heat does James in, and he moans against Jason’s skin at the burn that shoots through his nerves, everything going a little fuzzy around the edges. His hips twitch forwards through the last couple spurts until it becomes too much, and James hisses, his spent dick oversensitive and sore.

Then he slumps over, collapsing halfway onto the bed. Jason lets out a little groan as James rolls off of him.

James sags into the mattress as he goes boneless. The sheets are cool against his overheated skin. He’s still pressed against Jason, sweat pooling where bare skin meets bare skin. James clumsily wipes his hand off on the bedsheets.

For a moment, there’s nothing but their unsteady breaths and the low hum from the lamp on the night table as they both stare at the ceiling and collect themselves. James thinks he can distantly hear some of the other skaters in the hotel from here, although everything is so muffled it’s mostly indistinct.

“Fuck,” Jason sighs, finally breaking the silence. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah,” James smirks, “Jesus. You’re a surprisingly good lay, Newsted.”

“Shut up.”

James lets his head flop to the side to look at him; Jason’s voice is raspy, but he’s grinning, all loose and easy post-fuck. He sticks his tongue out at James when he catches him staring.

 _Cute_ , James’ mind fills in. He feels himself blush.

Squirming a little, Jason clumsily pulls his shirt up over his head, using it to clean the mess of drying jizz off his belly before he tosses it to the ground. “S’fucking hot in here,” he mumbles, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Should open a window.”

“Mmm.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna get up and do it?”

“Nah.”

Jason laughs. His nose kind of scrunches up and all the dimples in his cheeks become more prominent. James wants to trace them with a finger. His eyes are drawn to the smattering of freckles under Jason’s eyes and across the bridge of his nose, faint and almost indistinct unless he’s this close. Seeing him from afar was one thing; having him under him, next to him, is something else entirely.

It’s strange, how much James wants more.

“So,” Jason says. He rolls over a little. His knee wedges between James’ legs. “Gotta say, I didn’t think we’d end up like this.”

That’s an understatement. James snorts a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry for being a dick earlier.”

Jason grins. “S’fine. I punched you first. You’re real bruised-up.” He rubs the pad of his thumb gently over James’ cheek and nose, mindful of the pressure. James winces a little at the sting.

“No, I mean- I mean,” James stutters, his cheeks burning a little with embarrassment, “In that parking lot. Y’know. After that competition. I was an asshole. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

He watches recognition flicker across Jason’s face. Guilt, heavy and gross, sinks in his belly, and part of James wishes he’d never even seen Jason that day in the parking lot, wishes he’d never been such a fucking coward.

“Oh,” Jason says. He blinks a little. “S’okay. I get it. Y’know.”

It’s unsaid, and yet James knows exactly what Jason means, what ‘it’ is; him and Jason, lying in bed, faces inches from each others’, something heavy hanging in the air between the two of them.

“Really?”

“Yeah, man. I’m not into holding grudges. Besides,” Jason smirks, “Think this made up for it.”

James feels himself grin a little, in spite of himself. He probably doesn’t deserve Jason’s forgiveness, but god, he wants it so bad. “Yeah. Your lip is pretty swollen. Think I got you in the teeth.”

That gets a little laugh. “Yeah, you did,” Jason snarks. He blinks dumbly as James pushes a finger between his lips. “Uh-”

“Just wanna make sure I didn’t break anything,’ James murmurs, but it’s a flimsy excuse, even to his own ears. “Stay still.”

Jason stiffens as James’ fingertip trails over the top row of his teeth and along his gums, checking for any damage. His eyes are dopey and heavy as he stares up at James, his cheeks pink. James pauses, before he pushes his finger a little deeper, a sudden flash of heat licking through his nerves at the way Jason wraps his lips around the digit and _sucks_.

“Fuck,” James mumbles. He pulls his finger out with a little pop. “Fucking shit.” If he hadn’t just nutted his brains out, he’s certain that would’ve been the thing that did him in.

Blinking dazedly, Jason licks his lips. His mouth opens and closes a couple times, as if he’s thinking of the right way to word what he wants to say. “What the fuck was this?”

James shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be anything.”

“Never said I wanted that.”

He’s _brave_. James swallows hard, feeling his face go hot. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jason grins. “Dude, it’s just- fucking wild, man. Thought you hated me. Were just playing pretend.”

James shakes his head lazily. “Nah. I’ve always thought you were cool. Kind of a dork, though.”

“Hey! Like you're any better. I saw that fucking Mr. Bubble t-shirt, dude, that’s dorky as hell,” Jason giggles. He shoves playfully at James’ chest. James laughs. “Way to ruin the moment, man, I thought we were bonding here.”

“Nerd.”

“Asshole.”

“Cocksucker.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason smirks. “You want a demo?”

It's so goofy, so light and stupid they both end up howling with laughter, rolling across the bed like children. James feels his sides ache, ribs on fire, but he can't stop fucking laughing, gasping for air in between.

He ends up smushed against Jason's side, panting for air and snickering quietly. Jason wipes a tear from his eye, his face flushed pink and his mouth split in a huge grin.

James blinks.

It's sudden, how he realizes he thinks Jason's gorgeous. He wants Jason, wants to start hanging out with him again, wants to listen to him talk about horror flicks or the music he's into. He wants to keep doing whatever _this_ is, too.

Jason leans in and kisses him suddenly. “You're hot,” he mumbles, inches from James’ lips. “Like, you don't gotta, but. If you wanted to do this again…”

He trails off, letting his words hang in the air to give James a second to think. James’ brain cells are a little fried from Jason kissing him, and it takes him a moment to even get his tongue to work.

“Yeah,” James says, “Yeah, I- I would. Yeah.”

Jason's grin splits into that 1000-watt smile, and James feels his heart leap into his throat.

“Cool, lemme write my number down. I gotta go soon, got dinner with the team in, like,” Jason says, glancing at the clock, “Uh, twenty minutes. So.”

“Oh,” James blinks, “Oh, yeah. Okay. Cool.”

Jason rummages in the top drawer of the night table, producing a beat-up Bic. Then he rips the subscription mail-in card out of an old issue of Thrasher- June 1985, with Steve Caballero on the cover. James watches him scribble something out quickly before passing over the folded-up paper.

“Thanks,” James says. He takes it gingerly, before pulling his shorts back up and slipping on his beat-up Vans. “Uh, see you, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jason grins, “Catch you later.” Then he winks, rolling off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

James lets himself out of the hotel room, taking a moment to try and straighten his clothes. His hair is a mess, and he soon gives up trying to finger-comb it, silently praying he doesn't look too fucked-out. At least not enough for any of his guys to notice and rag him for it. Then he glances down at the magazine page Jason gave him, crushed in his hand.

He unfolds it carefully.

thx 4 a hot fuck ;-) call me  
450-737-2364 <3

James swallows hard. Then he grins.

───

“Dude, nice hickey.”

Jason feels his stomach drop. Then his entire face burns, so hot he's pretty sure he's gotta be glowing red.

He's just trying to have breakfast; admittedly, shitty hotel buffet breakfast, but breakfast nonetheless. He pauses dumbly, fork halfway to his mouth. The chunk of fried egg falls off the end and hits his plate with a quiet splat.

While his rational mind supplies that yeah, after how hard James went after him he’d look like someone tried to rip his throat out, Jason supposes it didn’t quite occur to him that he’d have to cover all the hickeys.

“I- huh?”

Lars gives him a smarmy grin. “Oh, c’mon, you can't play dumb with us, man. Those are some serious bites you're rocking.”

Kirk snickers wildly, and Lars cackles a little. Belatedly, Jason finds himself wishing he was anywhere but here. Luckily enough, he’s in just the right attire for covering this up; he’s able to pop the collar of his flannel and his denim jacket, and he hopes that conceals them well enough. Drawing his hair to the front to drape over his shoulders is the coup de grace in his efforts.

“So,” Lars says, “Who's the chick?”

“I- nobody,” Jason stutters. His eyes flick wildly around the room in his embarrassment, catching on Junior and Marty where they're scooping out some scrambled eggs onto their plates.

He’s considering going to sit with them instead, where he can’t be embarrassed anymore. Where he could have a simpler breakfast, a simpler life. Though Lars is still looking at him expecting an answer, meaning he won’t be getting out of this one unless Jason actually says something. So he tries to cobble together a lie as best as he can and comes up with: “I mean, you wouldn't- a girl. Yeah. Yup!”

They don’t call him Jason ‘Smooth’ Newsted for nothing.

“A girl.”

“Uh-huh.”

 _“Right,”_ Lars drawls, like he's skeptical but can't really question it because, y’know. Jason's got physical proof. “Dude, if you banged someone's girlfriend, just fucking spill.”

Jason nearly chokes on his sip of orange juice. “I- no,” he says, aghast. “Christ. Just ‘cause you would doesn't mean the rest of us are the same.”

Kirk laughs. “Lars is just grilling you cause he’s jealous, man.”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?” Lars demands.

“I dunno what you do when we’re not competing, but I’ve never seen anything happening whenever I’ve roomed with you.”

Lars lets out a wounded noise. “That's not true! There was that one chick-”

“Yeah, who left early ‘cause you only got a couple pumps in-”

Thankfully, Lars’ attention shifts to defending himself, and as the two of them bicker, Jason finishes his plate. Soon enough he's daydreaming, wondering what James might be doing, fantasizing about a repeat performance of last night.

He wonders if James is thinking about him too. If he plans on calling him later. He hopes he is. It would suck for this to be only a one time thing, because Jason really does like him, and he wants to see where this goes, if anywhere. This is the first time in awhile that he’s really felt something this strong for someone.

But it’s James’ move.

So now Jason just has to sit and wait.


	3. heaven is a halfpipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kingdom of God is in skateparks and suburban apartments.

James leans back in the grass, elbows damp from the moisture where he’s lying in the shade.

They’re in the backyard of some foreclosed house in Dave’s neighbourhood, skating the abandoned concrete pool. It’s worn-out, showing all the rough edges of neglect; broken tiles on the rim, cracked lip, drain infested with weeds.

It’s perfect for them.

The boombox is sitting beside him, Motorhead tape blaring as Dave takes his turn. James watches his head of red hair pop out of the pool again and again as he grinds the lip, the rhythm of his run combining with the heat of the day and lulling James to half-wakefulness. His eyes slide closed.

He lays back in the grass. James sighs, his shoulders untensing as he goes boneless. The skin of his cheeks and arms still feel somewhat hot, a likely indicator that he’s gotten a bit of a sunburn. He could really go for a milkshake or something right about now, or maybe a cone of soft-serve. James licks his lips absentmindedly.

Before he can even recognize the shift, he’s thinking about Jason. His mind replays their last competition, Jason’s run repeating behind his closed lids again and again.

All he can think about is Jason. James wonders what he’d look like sucking his dick, or sprawled across his bed, because he’s nothing if not an optimist when it comes to potential future hook-ups, and his imagination’s definitely good enough to fill in the blanks where experience is concerned. Maybe a sloppy makeout session that dissolves to something more, or…

“Hey, wake up.”

Someone prods him in the stomach with the tail of their skateboard.

James opens his eyes, scowling upwards at whoever’s roused him out of his fantasies. The image of Jason in his mind, on his knees between his legs, lips wrapped around his dick, dissipates entirely.

Cliff stares down at him, grinning easily. James huffs a little from annoyance.

“You good, dude?” Cliff tosses his board aside, sitting next to him. He’s still somehow in bell bottoms and a raggedy Misfits shirt, even though it must be at least a hundred degrees out. “Kinda ruins the vibe if you pass out from heat exhaustion.”

Rolling his eyes, James stretches his arms above his head, groaning a little. “Mmm, I’m fine,” he yawns, “Just a little sleepy.”

Cliff grins. “Yeah, I can tell.” He falls silent, leaning back on his hands and watching Nick and Dave skate the bowl. James props himself back up on his elbows, eyes drawn to where Nick’s board is half-dangling over the lip. “What’s eating you, man?”

“Huh?”

“C’mon,” Cliff says easily. He turns his head towards James, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “It’s obvious. Like you’re daydreaming half the time. What’s on your mind?”

Jesus, is he that obvious? James swallows, mouth dry from the heat. He scratches a little at the back of his neck. “Uh, well. Uhm- let’s say, hypothetically. If there was, y’know-”

“A chick?” Cliff grins. “Dude, why didn’t you just say?”

James shakes his head.

“Okay, so not a chick. Piece of shit car finally bit the dust?”

“Uh- I mean, there’s. Just- not a girl.”

Cliff frowns. Then James watches recognition spread across his face. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Cliff says dumbly. “Dude, s’it anyone I’d know?”

James chews his bottom lip. “Uh, well. I dunno. Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Cliff says, like he’s chewing over the possibilities. “Huh. S’cool, man. So what’s fucking with you?”

“Dunno,” James shrugs. He plays with the hem of his shirt. “I mean, like. Worried you guys might not like him. He’s not… like us, really.”

Cliff hums consideringly. He opens the lid on the cooler next to him, pulls out a bottle of coke. “I mean, it doesn’t matter what I think or what anybody else thinks,” he says easily, pausing to crack the lid and take a sip. “If he makes you happy, then that’s what matters, y’know? And I know the guys wouldn’t disrespect someone that you’re with.”

God, except that Cliff doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t know that this is someone from the fucking Bones Brigade, of all the people in the world. Knowing that would change his tune. He doesn’t think that Cliff would be angry per se, but he thinks he’d be disappointed. And that would be worse.

“I would hope so,” James mutters, but he doesn’t think the odds look good.

“So, when do I get to meet this guy?” Cliff asks, and even though it’s good natured and well-intended, it’s exactly the kind of question James doesn’t want to answer. Mostly because he’s never lied to Cliff and he doesn’t want to start now. “See what he’s all about.”

“Dunno,” James mumbles, and he scratches absentmindedly at his arm. “Maybe sometime.”

“Well at least tell me about him. What does he do? How’d you meet him? Is he _cute?_ ” Cliff teases, and James rolls his eyes.

“Nevermind. I’m never letting you meet him.”

They both laugh, before settling back into silence, though with a pointed disquiet inside of James. He likes Jason, wants to be with him, and he is so worth it, even if the feelings of having to hide him away, keep him like a dirty little secret overwhelm him at times.

Cliff sits next to him, drinking his soda, not knowing what James does.

It doesn’t sit well with him, but it’s the sacrifice he’s willing to make to keep everybody happy.

+

“Yeah, the tape got caught. Whole thing fucking unspooled in my speakers,” James says, “Was fuckin’ awful, nearly got stuck in there.”

Jason laughs. “Bummer. S’cool, though, I’ll make you a new one. It’ll be exclusive; no Thrasher special, 100% unique.”

“Oh yeah? I’m looking forward to it.” Jason can hear James’ grin through the phone.

“You better be,” Jason teases. He flops backwards on the hotel bed. It strikes him suddenly, how he feels like some chick calling her boyfriend. Except he’s some dude calling his hook-up. Whatever. “I’ll even sign it for you. Might be worth something someday.”

“Hardy fucking har.” At that, Jason giggles. “Hey, uh, I was gonna ask but forgot to. You wanna come over to my place this weekend? I can rent a movie, or something.”

“Mmm, sure, I don’t think I have anything going on,” Jason says. “Would be cool.”

“Oh, so I’m just something to do while you wait for better things to happen? I see how it is.”

Jason makes an exasperated sound over the phone, but he’s smiling. “That’s not how it is, dickweed.” He pauses. “Though you _are_ something to do.”

“Shut up,” James laughs. “I’m starting to think you’re in it just for the sex.”

That makes him laugh. Taking on a teasing tone, Jason sighs dramatically. “Well, I mean, you’re nice and all, but your blowjob technique is-”

And right in the middle of that sentence, he hears the keys turning in the door, and it starts to open.

Well, shit.

In a quick save, as swiftly as he can manage, he says into the receiver, “Hey, I have to go for now. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

Jason hears James start to question what’s going on, but he hangs up before he can hear much of it. He hopes he understands. All’s fair in love and war and sneaking behind his teammate’s backs to have a hot illicit affair with the enemy. Or something like that.

He tries to conduct himself into the picture of innocence and non-betrayal as much as he can. He curls on his side, wraps his arms around his pillow and hopes for the best that Lars doesn’t look too much into what he might’ve walked into.

Even if this has happened more than once. Lars will be onto him soon if he’s not already.

Lars collapses on the foot of the bed with a heavy groan. “God, that interview dragged on forever. Poor fucker’s tape recorder died halfway through, and he had to write the rest of it by hand. And his questions weren’t even that good anyway.”

“That blows.”

 _“Ugh.”_ Brushing his hair out of his face, Lars looks up at him. “Anyway. What have you been doing? Who were you on the phone with?”

“My mom,” Jason answers, a lie that rolls easily off the tongue. Every time he brings up a new member of the family that he’s been talking to. It seems to put his nosy teammate off the trail, at least.

“Oh. You could’ve kept talking to her, man, I don't care.”

“Eh, it was about some private family stuff,” Jason shrugs, and he hopes that’s the end of it. “You know how it is.”

Lars narrows his eyes a little. Raises an eyebrow. Like he doesn’t quite believe him. Like he’s beginning to get an inkling. “Man, some family stuff to be on the phone all the time over it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s none of your fucking business, Lars,” Jason grinds out, although his stomach churns with nerves. He’s glad his voice doesn’t shake. “You don’t have to know everything.”

They hold a steady, if uneasy eye contact for a while, a silent challenge, a dare. Jason’s not one to back down, and neither is Lars, but they both at least have sense enough to know when to cut losses.

“Alright, whatever,” Lars says, not so much a surrender than it is a stalemate. He yawns, and turns away to face the wall.

Jason lets out an unsteady breath. He feels bad for snapping at Lars. Real bad.

But this is the only way he can have James.

+

Thursday rolls around. They’ve got a bit of a dry spell in terms of competitions; the next one isn’t for a few weeks, and in the meantime they fill their days practicing and hanging out whenever they can plausibly get away from their teammates.

Such is the case tonight. Jason suggested seeing a movie, and, well. Maybe James is hoping they'll get a chance to fool around a little in the dark theatre. Whatever.

And, blessedly, the theatre is fucking dead. It’s just them in the very back row and some kids up at the front. Fucking score.

Once a month they do an old movie feature, and tonight it’s _Night of the Living Dead._ Considering the rest of the movie selections are shit, James figures he can suck it up for one night and rewatch it, even if he’s seen it so many times thanks to Cliff it’s probably burned into his retinas.

Him and Jason dig into the cheap popcorn as the lights dim. There’s a shitton of that greasy butter on top, and James licks a little bit of it off his fingers. Jason tears into the box of Sour Patch Kids, nearly spilling them everywhere. Wordlessly, he shakes some out into his palm and offers them to James.

“Thanks, man,” James grins. He pops them into his mouth. “This popcorn sucks.”

Jason giggles. “Tastes like fucking styrofoam,” he says, “You can have it. I’ll just eat these instead.”

Letting out a wounded noise, James grabs for the box. Jason holds it out of reach, laughing wildly as they tussle, almost upending the bag of shitty popcorn all over the floor. Then some kid from the front shouts at them to _shut the fuck up!_ and they quiet down.

After tossing back a couple _fuck you’s_ , of course.

Halfway through, James is bored. They’ve already finished the popcorn and candy, empty bag and box wadded up in one of the cupholders. Jason’s got his sneakers up on the back of the seats in front of him, head lolled on James’ shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” James tilts his head to the side. Jason takes a sip from his drink and sets it back in the cupholder. “You good?”

“Uh-huh. Are you bored?” Jason raises an eyebrow. “‘Cause I’m bored. I’ve watched this with Kirk a billion times.”

James laughs. “God, yeah. Me too. Least it’s better than Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”

“Anything’s better than that.”

They snicker.

“Could think of one thing that's more entertaining,” James murmurs. He leans in, and Jason clues in pretty fast to what he means. They kiss, slow and sweet. “Making out’s pretty great.”

“Oh yeah, moans from the undead, real sexy,” Jason teases. He clambers into James’ lap and straddles his thighs, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s sloppy, hot. James fists the back of his shirt. “Bet Kirk got off to some horror movie instead of, like, actual porn his first time.”

“Dude,” James laughs, “Don’t talk about your teammate jerking off to slasher films when we’re trying to fuck. S’fucked up.”

“Is that what this is?” Jason nips at his bottom lip. In the low lights, James can just make out his grin. “Quick fuck in a grody movie theatre?”

“Duh. Unless you got other plans?”

Jason moans into his mouth when James’ other hand drifts to his ass and squeezes. “Mmm, kinda hot,” he mumbles. His hands scrabble at the waistband of James’ jeans, undoing the button and tugging the zipper down. “You an exhibitionist?”

James snickers. “Guess so. You like it, though.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth as Jason gropes at his bulge through his boxers. Then he wiggles his hips up, just enough to let Jason tug them down and grab his dick. “Pretty sure you’re- fuck- just as bad.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs, “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

Baby. James likes that. He wants to be that.

Jason’s palm is warm, calloused in places thanks to years and years of skateboarding. He gives James a few slow, easy pumps, nips at the tender skin under his jaw as his hand corkscrews up. His other hand drifts down, cups his balls. James’ back arches, his fingers digging into Jason’s ass through his jeans.

That gets him a moan, soft and low. Jason kisses him, rough, sloppy as fucking hell, open-mouthed and dirty. James pulls him closer with a hand at the small of his back. Jason huffs out a little groan. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap popcorn and sour candy, and James licks insistently into his mouth.

In the background, there’s screams from the movie. Splatter of blood. Gasps from the kids at the front, the sound of someone snoring.

James could give a fuck; his mouth falls open on a quiet groan as Jason squeezes his cock on the upstroke, thumbs under the head a little. Jason’s lips are soft, slick with spit. He ruts his hips down against James’ thigh, biting out a soft little fuck. Grabbing at Jason’s ass earns him a moan, their lips clicking as they part for air.

Blinking up at Jason, James feels his heart hammering against his ribs. Somewhere in between he’s gotten fully hard, leaking precum. James moans through gritted teeth when Jason sucks a hickey under his jaw, teeth digging in teasingly.

“Dude, shh,” Jason snickers. “Keep it down.”

“Kinda hard to do that,” James whispers back, “Especially when- shit, when you do that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, fuck-”

Jason laughs. “Hey,” he mumbles, “Can I- can I suck your dick?”

James’ mouth falls open. It takes his sluggish brain a few seconds to catch up; Jason wants to suck his dick. In a movie theatre. The latent exhibitionist in James is having a goddamn field day.

“I- holy shit,” James says. Winces as a particularly loud scream from the movie cuts him off. Jason giggles. “Yeah, fuck. Please, holy fuck.”

Jason grins. Then he wiggles back a little bit, lets go of his dick. James groans as it flops heavily against his navel. He watches Jason sink to his knees in between his legs. James brushes a strand of hair off his face. It’s ridiculously tender, makes his heart catch in his throat

In the glow from the screen, he can just about make out the heavy blush spreading over Jason’s cheeks.

Then Jason fists his dick, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the head. He licks a little bit of precum off his lips. James feels his hips push forwards, without his control, desperate for more.

The feeling of Jason mouthing his way down is overwhelming. James shudders, fingers gripping at the cheap linoleum of the seat as Jason presses kisses all the way down. A moan burbles out of his mouth when Jason scrapes his teeth over the skin of his inner thigh. The pace is slow, unhurried. Jason’s eyes are heavy-lidded, wanting. He’s staring up at James through his eyelashes as he licks his way back up.

James watches, enraptured with the way Jason’s lips stretch wide as he sucks him down. The warmth of his mouth is fucking glorious; James’ toes curl in his goddamn Reeboks, because holy fucking shit, he’s never gonna get over the sight of Jason’s mouth stuffed full with his cock.

When Jason swallows around him, throat squeezing, sinfully tight and slick, James has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a moan. His eyes squeeze shut, body shuddering at the feeling.

Jason laughs. The vibrations from it are overwhelming, makes James audibly gasp. He rests a hand gently on the back of Jason’s head, tangles his fingers in his curls. Jason pulls back up, sucks at the head a little.

James is pretty sure he’s ascending to heaven.

Then Jason bobs back down. James huffs out a groan. There’s the wet sound of his dick hitting the back of Jason’s mouth. Jason’s fingers dig into his thigh, his other hand jerking him off as he sucks, sloppy and hot.

It’s so, so fucking good. James bites his bottom lip as Jason lets both his hands rest on James’ thighs and sinks all the way down. His hand fists in Jason’s hair, blunt nails scratching gently against skin. Jason moans, speeds up his pace, lips stretching pornographically wide.

Like some wet dream. Something from his fantasies. God, James never thought he’d be so into getting blown during a horror movie.

First time for everything, he supposes.

He watches Jason’s cheeks hollow rhythmically. James’ other hand drifts down to feel the muscles of Jason’s throat working around his cock. Jason blinks up at him dazedly, eyelashes webbed with tears.

Something in James’ guts twists. His face burns. They’re doing a shit job of staying quiet; even over the screams from the movie, James can hear the wet, sloppy sounds of Jason choking on his dick. It’d be embarrasing if he gave a fuck. The kids at the front aren’t paying attention to them, anyways. It’s fine.

A sharp, broken moan punches out of him when Jason deepthroats him, because goddamn.

Jason gags around him as his hips buck up. He’s drooling, spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth, bubbling up slick and wet. His eyes are glazed over, tear tracks glimmering on his pink cheeks.

James thinks he looks fucking perfect. He’s so ridiculously hot it’s almost unfair.

And god, he’s enamoured with the way Jason sucks dick like a fucking champ.

“Fuck, I’m- m’close,” James groans. He can feel that warmth coalescing in his guts, his heart stuttering in his ribcage. “Gonna- fuck--”

Jason moans. He lets James push his dick into the soft bit of the inside of his cheek. Spit drips from his swollen lips, pooling on the seat between James’ legs.

And that does it.

James bites into the meat of his palm, muffling his moan as he comes. His hips buck up, back bowing and eyes scrunching shut. The heat of his high is overwhelmingly good. It ricochets up his spine, his legs shuddering without his control around Jason’s head with each wave of pleasure.

When James glances back down, chest heaving for air, he moans again.

Jason’s eyes are dopey, fucked-out. He swallows around him, spit and jizz dribbling out from the corners of his mouth. It’s sloppy and hot and god, he looks like a fucking dream on his knees between James’ legs.

Soon enough it’s too much, the sensation of Jason tongueing over the head making James hiss from overstimulation.

“Fuck- fuck, oh shit-”

Jason hums apologetically. He opens his mouth, lets his cock slide free. A little strand of drool streams from his tongue. He wipes dazedly at his face, only succeeding in smearing a bunch of spit all over his chin.

“Jesus, c’mere,” James mumbles. He tugs on Jason’s hand, and Jason clambers into his lap, clumsy from need and getting throatfucked. He moans as James kisses him, and even though the bitter tang of jizz makes James’ nose wrinkle, he’s still gonna keep kissing him, because goddamn the noises Jason’s making are so good. “That was- holy fucking shit.”

Jason laughs. Then he groans as James bites at his collarbones. His breathing stutters as James makes quick work of his zipper and gets a hand in his boxers. “I- oh, fuck-- yeah, like that, god.”

Wrapping a hand around Jason’s dick, James lets him rut up against his hand. He busies himself with biting along his neck, trying to leave as many reddening teeth marks as possible. He wants Jason to look in the mirror tomorrow morning and see them. Wants him to remember it all.

“James- m’gonna--”

“C’mon, yeah,” James mumbles. Jason’s skin is soft under his teeth. He tastes like salt from sweat, and his hair smells sweet, and it’s the most intoxicating fucking blend. “C’mon, c’mon, wanna see you come for me, c’mon-”

Jason whimpers into the crook of his neck as he comes. His hips judder clumsily through it, his fingers scrabbling at James’ shoulders. Soft, punched-out little noises tear from his throat, weak in a way that makes James want more.

When Jason kisses him, hungry and clumsy, James feels his heart leap into his throat.

“Fuck,” Jason mumbles. James laughs. On screen, the credits begin to roll. He wipes his hand off on one of the stray napkins in the cupholder. “Goddamn.”

James grins. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re incredible, babe.”

Jason’s face goes red. “Shut up.” He shoves at James’ chest, but he’s grinning, so James takes it as an excuse to lean in and kiss him again.

+

It’s a lazy Saturday night; neither of them have anything to do, so Jason drives the forty-five minutes over to James’ apartment, parks his car beside James’ in the lot. And if he runs up the stairs to the fifth floor because he can’t wait for the elevator, well. He just- really likes James, okay?

Sue him.

When James opens the door, he’s in an old Misfits pullover and grey sweatpants, hair loose around his face, still damp from a shower. Jason feels his mouth water a little. He wants to kiss him, real bad.

So he does. James laughs, cups his cheeks and kisses him again, all soft. Jason feels lightheaded.

“That was fast,” James grins, once he’s pulled back. He closes the door behind him. Jason toes off his sneakers, tossing his jean jacket on one of the hooks by the door. “Just started making the beef for tacos, you wanna chop the veggies?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Jason nods. He follows James into the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. The radio’s on, Zeppelin playing quietly. “Rather be having you for dinner tonight,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows for the added ironic effect.

James laughs.

They make dinner together and eat on the couch and watch old reruns of MacGyver, dirty plates discarded on James’ coffee table. James has a pack of fudgesicles in the freezer, and they split a pair for dessert.

And if Jason takes the opportunity to tease James with it, well. James’ reactions are just too fucking good to pass up on; seeing his face go red is only added fuel for the fire.

“Quit it,” James says thickly. He flaps at Jason with his free hand, his cheeks all flushed. Jason snickers and bites a chunk off. “You keep doing that and we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Wouldn’t call it a problem. Happy accident, maybe.”

“Shut up.”

Jason grins, tossing aside the stick once he’s finished. There’s a commercial break; some ads for speakers. He lies down, putting his head in James’ lap, staring up at him. It just seems right, seems natural. James grins back at him, cards his fingers through his hair softly over and over, at times pausing at length and starting again.

It’s good, warm. Eventually they stumble to the bedroom, bored of any of the movies on the television. They collapse onto the mattress, leaving the dishes for the morning.

They don't undress each other. Or, at least, it’s not like that. They kick off their clothes save for their boxers and cuddle up together under the sheets. It’s tender, soft. Jason almost likes it more than when they fuck (although he’s not complaining about that, either.)

Somehow they manage to stay up until three in the morning, passing the time talking, laughing, kissing. James wraps his arms around Jason, left arm under his neck and right arm around his back, to pull him into his chest. Jason loves this, being pressed to him, feeling his heat, the rumble in his throat and sternum when he speaks.

They trade their vulnerabilities to each other. James talks about his mother dying. Jason talks about the insecurities he has about his place in their sport. James expresses his fear of abandonment. Jason shares his experiences with loneliness.

It’s strange, how right it feels. Jason can’t even remember the last time he talked so candidly about all these things he’s been carrying for so long. With James, it feels like he’s lightening that burden a little.

He just feels good. Jason noses up against the curve of James’ neck, idly pressing kisses here and there. James’ hand drifts up and down his spine.

The conversation drifts to happier moments. When James had his first kiss. When Jason got his first magazine interview. When James joined the Alva team. When Jason won his first competition.

First date. First heartbreak. First broken bone. Learning each other, like a new language. Historians of each other’s lives, wanting to know what they don’t know yet. Coming closer all the more for it. A silent trade of each others’ hearts for safe keeping.

Jason’s eyes idly drift around James’ room. He notices the guitar in the corner, and asks him the first song that he learned. James gets up out of the bed, picks it up, and sits down with it. With a pluck of the strings and some fine tuning, he begins to play it for him.

_“She gives me everything,_

_And tenderly…”_

Jason lies, tucked under the blankets and propped up on an elbow, watching as James plays for him, sings for him. It sounds soft, if not a little melancholy. He has a deep, smooth voice, the kind that’s good for ballads.

_“The kiss my lover brings,_

_She brings to me,_

_And I love her…”_

As he sings, Jason reaches out to him, and gently rests his hand on his knee. James is so warm and loving when he is with him, an entirely different person in contrast to who he is around the Alva Posse. It means everything to him, to have this version of James that nobody else has seen before.

He is so privileged. He is so lucky. If James isn’t careful… Jason’s going to want to have him always.

When James finishes the final line, Jason reaches up to kiss him, and James puts his guitar aside propped up against the edge of the bed and allows himself to be dragged under the covers. Jason wiggles into his embrace, resting his head on the pillows next to James’, close enough for them to kiss.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You…” _Fuck it,_ Jason thinks. “You wanna be-- boyfriends?”

James blinks dumbly. Then his face splits into a huge grin. “Duh, ‘course. C’mere.”

They look into eachothers’ eyes, and it is the last thing they see before they sleep, in each others’ arms. Safely alone together.

+

“Kirk? A question,” Lars says, as he folds his arms behind his head.

Kirk, who is in the opposite bed, fiddles around with a wrench as he adjusts the tightness of his trucks. “Lars, an answer,” he responds flatly. Kirk is no stranger to Lars’ rants and rambles, knows that he’s gearing up for another long one.

“There’s something that I’ve been noticing. Something wrong with Jason. Do you know what I might be talking about?”

Paying it hardly any attention, Kirk shrugs. “I don’t know. His curls aren’t as red today? Tell me.”

Lars sits up in bed, and narrows his eyes. “Among other things, Jason is wearing an Alva shirt today.”

“And?”

“Kirk. Come on. Put down your board, I got something important to say.”

Kirk puts his board to the side along with his tool and gives an exasperated huff as he clasps his hands to ready himself for the oncoming onslaught of what he knows will probably be a whole lot of nothing. “If I had a fuckin’ dime for every time you said that and it turned out not to be true. . .”

Ignoring his snideness, Lars starts anyway. “Listen, man! Haven’t you noticed that every time we’re at a competition Jason goes and hangs out with that Hetfield guy from the Alva Posse?”

Taking a moment, Kirk has to think about it. Yeah, he’s seen Jason and Hetfield smoking together a few times, or sitting together in the stands. He does remember thinking it was a little weird. Especially since he never would’ve thought that one of the Alva guys would ever come down to the level of being seen with someone from the Bones Brigade. But honestly, he didn’t give it much further thought.

“Okay, so they’re friends. Whatever. We don’t have to operate by bullshit competitive rivalry rules all the time, and we don’t have to be bound by our teams twenty-four-seven.” Kirk rolls his eyes and turns to pick up his board and resume his work on it.

Lars nods sagely. “Ok. So I’m hearing you, I’m listening to you,” he says, in a way that indicates he absolutely isn't. “Have you also noticed that Jason seems to leave these competitions with hickeys all over his throat?”

“And he gets laid. Congrats.”

“Or that whenever Jason disappears James also seems nowhere to be found?”

“Correlation versus causation.”

 _“Dude,”_ Lars sighs. “Come on. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” Kirk glances up from his board.

“I’m going to say it.” It sounds like a threat. But Lars has never been more serious in his life. “I’m going to say it, and you are not going to like it.”

“Just say it, dick.”

Lars readies, aims, and then _fires:_ “James and Jason are fucking, man.”

 _“What!?”_ Kirk blurts out, dropping everything from his hands because hold the fuck up, what did Lars just say?

“James Hetfield and Jason Newsted are fucking, boning, knocking boots! There’s no other explanation.”

“Lars, what the fuck, man? They are so fucking _not_ , dude. That’s insane,” Kirk frowns, and he shakes his head like he cannot believe what he’s just heard. “You’re just paranoid, and also kind of a pervert. I’m gonna end up reporting you to the consulate, man, Denmark can have you back.”

Lars shakes his head and runs his hands frustratedly through his hair. “Jason is sleeping with the enemy right under our noses and you don’t care?”

“No, I don’t,” Kirk emphasizes. “Because he’s not.”

“That sounds like something someone who’s wrong would say,” Lars quips. “There’s too much evidence for this to just be coincidence. I would bet my life on this, man. Five bucks to whoever’s right. I know I’m fucking right. Five bucks.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“What, no balls, Hammett? No balls?”

Kirk rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Five bucks. Gonna be mine, anyways.”

“Hah! Just you wait and see,” Lars says, narrowing his eyes before leaning back in bed and folding his arms behind himself once again. “Just you wait...”

+

Jason hooks the basket in the crook of his arm and supposes he has everything he needs. This was really only supposed to be a snack run, a quick in and out, but after James pointed out what he wanted for Jason to grab, he disappeared elsewhere. Jason doesn’t mind. Though now he’s done, he has to go hunt for where his shopping partner went.

His _boyfriend_. Even thinking about it makes Jason’s stomach flutter. It’s been a long time since he’s dated someone, really dated someone, and he’s really glad that he has James now, and James has him in return.

From the aisle he’s currently in, he can see that the check out line is empty, which means James must be elsewhere. So he ventures, and starts looking up and down the lanes, past the shampoo and bodywash, past the greeting cards. Then he spots James in the medicinal aisle, that head of blond hair under a backwards baseball cap instantly familiar.

As he makes his way over to where James stands, Jason realizes that his face is red. Raising an eyebrow, Jason glances at the shelves in front of him, and then he feels his cheeks burn a little.

“Oh, you're- so I just,” James stutters. His face somehow manages to get even more red. “I figured- y’know, if you wanna-”

Jason laughs a little. James must think he's laughing at him, because he deflates slightly. Lacing his fingers with James’, Jason rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Sure,” he says. “If you really wanna try it, then I want that too.”

“Uh- yeah,” James grins, a little crooked. “I do. If that's- if that's cool.”

Jason giggles. “Yeah, it's cool. Is this symbolic, or something? Buying lube together?”

James laughs. “I mean- I guess so,” he grins. “Sealing the deal.”

“Oh, you romantic.”

He watches James grab a box of condoms, too. Jason wonders how they’re gonna look at the till, considering they’re buying a six-pack of gatorade, a bag of chips, cigarettes, lube, and condoms. Real classy. “You good?”

“Uh-huh,” Jason says, tugging a little on James’ hand. “Now c’mon, hurry up so we can try it.” He gives James a wink, trying to stifle his laugh as James’ attention noticeably perks up.

By the time they get back to James’ apartment, Jason’s pretty sure James is gonna vibrate out of his own skin; he can feel the anticipation he’s emanating, and it’s ridiculously endearing. Been a while since he’s hooked up with someone so excited about it, and Jason would be a liar if he said he didn’t find it to be kinda flattering.

Okay, really flattering.

Jason takes a shower to wash up. As soon as he walks out of the bathroom, hair still wet and towel wrapped around his waist, James nearly tackles him into bed. He hits the sheets with a puff of breath, and Jason laughs, looking up at James’ pink face where he’s balancing on his hands above him.

That goes straight to his dick. “Fucking eager, holy shit.”

“Uh-huh,” James grins. His hands are fast, tugging the towel off of Jason and tossing it with a thump to the floor. Then he lets his hands trail over Jason’s thighs, up his hips, palms calloused from years of skateboarding yet still tender. Strong hands; Jason feels safe, cared for under the other man’s touch, and he arches into the sensation. “I just- I’ve never- y’know.”

Jason blinks up at him. “Oh. Like, never, with a dude?”

James shakes his head. He scratches a little sheepishly at the back of his neck, face colouring deep red. “Nah, so. I mean, I’ve- with a chick, y’know. Just.”

It’s unsaid; not like this. Not with someone who really matters.

“S’cool,” Jason grins. It’s touching, in a way, that James wants him to be his first time with a guy. “Yeah. It’ll be good, don’t worry. Now c’mere.”

He pulls James down for a kiss, hand wrapping around the back of his neck. James goes easily, kissing him hungrily, and everything in Jason’s mind narrows to this pin-prick moment, the feeling of James’ hands against his skin, all slow and soft.

The hand wrapping around his dick coaxes a bloom of warmth in his guts. Jason feels more than hears himself moan, his back arching as his hips bow up off the bed. James huffs a laugh, licking insistently into his mouth.

He lets his fingers dig into James’ shoulders as James rubs his thumb back and forth, smearing precum over the head. God, it's so fucking good. Jason’s eyes roll back in his head as James twists his hand a little on the downstroke, other hand pinching that soft bit of his inner thigh.

James breaks the kiss for air. His bottom lip quivers a little, slick with spit. Jason stares up at him, his hazy brain working on overdrive at the way James is between his open legs. He feels himself drool as James gets undressed, eyes trailing lazily over all that bare, tanned skin. Fuck.

“So,” James murmurs, once he’s tossed the last article of clothing to his floor. “How d’you- y’know. Wanna?”

Jason grins. “Like this is good,” he says. “You got the lube?”

James holds the tube up. “Can- can I?”

And _oh_ , holy fucking shit. Jason blinks stupidly for a couple moments, because it’s one thing to do the prep himself and then fuck, but the fact that James is offering to do it? Goddamn. Bold. Jason’s pretty sure his mouth’s fallen open.

It takes him a couple seconds to find his voice. “I- yeah, fuck,” Jason stutters. “You don't have to-”

“I want to, though. If that’s, y’know,” James mumbles, his face flushed, “If that’s cool.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

James grins, that big, easy smile, teeth bright. Jason feels his guts flutter, half from nerves and half from something more.

He watches as James pops the cap, squirting some onto his fingers, enough that it drips down his knuckles and falls onto the bedspread. Then he looks expectantly at Jason.

Oh.

Hooking his hands around his thighs, Jason spreads his legs a little more. James’ eyes laser-focus right between his legs. He’d be a little embarrassed if there wasn’t something endearing about how flustered James is, though.

“C’mon, yeah,” Jason murmurs. Following orders, James’ hand creeps between his legs, as he ventures for what he’s looking for. His eyes flutter shut as James’ fingertip traces his rim, circling nice and slow. “Yeah, like- oh-”

Everything slows down as James’ finger pushes in softly. Jason shifts a little against the sheets, trying to get more comfortable as James pauses once he’s up to the knuckle.

“S’that good?”

Jason nods. “Uh-huh,” he mumbles, “Keep- keep going.”

When it comes down to it, James is achingly soft. All his movements are slow, like he’s almost afraid to hurt Jason. One finger becomes two, three, the stretch and friction of James’ digits utterly overwhelming, everything warm and soft and drawn-out, cocooning around them.

The two of them trade kisses, lazy and exploratory. Almost like they're figuring each other out for the first time. In a way they are; really taking their time in pleasing each other instead of stumbling their way through hasty desperate blowjobs. Crossing another line, without any rush.

James scissors his fingers, and Jason feels his mouth drop open, back arching into the feeling.

“Ohh-”

“Yeah?” The rhythm of James’ movements speeds up. Jason feels his dick twitch, leaking precum all over his belly, and he's too fucking close. “Like that, right there?”

“Yeah- fuck, stop,” Jason mumbles, “M’good.”

James pulls his fingers free with a wet little squelch. “Oh. Uh-”

“Grab the condom,” Jason grins, settling back against the sheets. His legs ache a little from holding them up. “C’mon, want you to fuck me.”

He watches James’ hands scrabble across the sheets, searching for the little foil packet with single-minded, horny determination. His hands tremble; it takes him three tries to rip it open, and Jason laughs, mirth spreading as James blushes good-naturedly.

James rolls the condom on. Then he slicks himself up a little more with the lube. His fingers dig into Jason's thighs as he pushes his legs up and apart. Jason wraps one around James’ hips, pulling him closer.

“S’this- this okay?” James leans in. His eyes are heavy with want, if a little uncertain.

Jason nods dazedly, feeling his bones thrum with nervous anticipation as the wet head of James’ cock nudges against his rim. God, more than okay. He’s thought about this moment so many times, but he never realized just how bad he needed it.

Then James starts to push in.

Biting his lip, Jason whines a little at the burn and stretch. It's good, though, the kind of heat that settles in his guts, that makes him want more.

And, well. Jason's glad James was pretty generous with the lube, ‘cause it's been a while since he's hooked up with someone and James isn't, like. Small. So.

James groans raggedly. “I- shit,” he pants, “Mmmm, fuck.”

Jason’s in about the same shape, gasping and moaning as James’ pelvis locks with his ass, and he bottoms out inside of him.

Once he's all the way in, all Jason can do is stare up at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open. He feels so, so full, everything gone shaky-hot at the rush of sensations; a little bit of shock, a little bit of pain, a lingering burn at the stretch, and-

“Holy shit,” James gasps. His eyes flutter shut, shivering a little. “Shit, feels so- oh my god, fuck-”

Jason laughs dazedly. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

“Are you- are you good? Should I,” James trails off. Swallows hard. His cheeks are so red; when Jason presses a hand against one, he can feel the way heat radiates through James’ skin. James leans his head into his touch. “Should I, uh. Keep going?”

“Yeah, m’good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm- c’mon.” Jason grinds his hips down, trying to silently coax James into continuing. It must work, because James pulls out a little, thrusting his hips forwards softly. “Yeah, like that.”

James grins. “Yeah, okay. Tell me if you want something different.”

Jason nods. James plants a big hand up next to his head, the other splaying wide across his belly. Jason grabs the hand resting on his stomach, lacing their fingers together.

All of James’ movements are rough, determined. Not rushed, but measured, paced. Jason lets himself drift, body going limp with the warmth that curls in his guts. His eyes slide half-shut. James shapes his palm to Jason’s cheek, and sweeps his thumb over the bone.

Smiling, Jason feels his heart seem to stutter with the way James is watching him. He loves the way he feels so loved. Turning his head, he mouths at James’ hand, with his lips and teeth, and he can feel the way it makes James’ breath hitch.

James’ next thrusts are slower, deeper, harder, and he collapses, resting his forehead against Jason’s shoulder. Jason shudders, the drag and burn overwhelming. His toes curl, legs squeezing around James’ hips.

A strangled moan ekes out of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, keep- oh, fuck, right there, please,” Jason slurs, love-drunk and gone. “I- I like it slow, like this.”

James breathes a soft laugh. “God, you’re so- so good.”

Wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck, Jason pulls him in ever closer and captures his lips in a kiss. He hooks his ankles together, entrapping James, as though he would ever leave.

In usual circumstances, Jason would suggest that they switch position so he can ride James, but this is all he wants. With James on top of him, he has everything he could ask for: the contact of hot skin, the heavy breath that he feels ghosting over his cheek, the whispered praise. He can bury his nose into that long blonde hair and smell him, his desire and his sweat, touch him and feel him and study the way his body curves and flexes.

There's the sensation of James’ teeth digging into the skin under his jaw, lips trailing down his neck. Jason feels himself writhe, a whimper punched out of him at a deep thrust. Slow, achingly slow. His thighs tremble around James’ hips.

James’ hand in his is good; romantic, maybe. A little close to something more, something Jason's sure of. Jason brings it up to his lips, kisses the knuckles. James grins down at him, rolls his hips forwards.

“Oh, fuck,” Jason moans. His head tips back against the pillows, baring his throat. An excuse for more hickeys. He lets out a pleased hum as James mouths at his neck. “Yeah, more, c’mon- there, there-”

“So hot,” James mumbles. “Fuck, you're so…”

The praise makes his cheeks burn. “Fuuuuck, I- James, _please…_ ”

James’ free hand grabs at his thigh, hauls it up a little more, spreading him open. Jason feels his hips twinge, and James slides a little deeper into him. His free hand fists in the sheets, gone white-knuckled.

“Holy- ohhh, _fuck-_ ”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh-huh, keep- more, c’mon.”

Reaching a hand between them, Jason grips his cock. He doesn't have to do much; just lets his palm press up against the vein, James’ thrusts rocking his hips up into a lazy grind. His guts twist with pleasure.

Above him, James’ rhythm falters, as he falls apart between his legs. James looks into Jason’s eyes, brow knit and eyes weak, almost like he’s pleading, begging, wants something, but Jason’s giving him everything that matters.

When James grits his teeth, Jason’s back bows off the bed, as they come together. Shaking and whining as he twists his hand, his cum lands in stripes over his belly.

James gives a few short shaky thrusts as he works himself through, and it prods the dying embers of Jason’s own arousal, almost bordering on too much but being just right and perfect.

Eventually, James slows to a stop, and it’s just them, panting, shivering together.

Jason goes boneless, body sagging into the mattress. All warm, high rolling through his nerves in waves. He kind of doesn't want James to pull out; wants to stay like this for a little longer, skin-on-skin and intimately close.

James seems to share the sentiment. He rests his head on Jason’s chest, over his heart. Jason wraps his arms around him, as if he could hold him ever closer. James presses a soft kiss to the skin over his ribs.

The room is hot, half-hazy. Everything out of focus. Sheets sticking to his back with sweat. James’ skin, warm and soft.

Jason kisses the top of James’ head. “Thank you,” he whispers. “That was really nice.” Probably the nicest he’s ever had. Seldom has he had an overwhelmingly positive experience like that. He expected fucking, but it felt so much more like… _making love._ The type of thing reserved for old married couples, not for a couple of rough and grungy skaters like them.

James hums. “God, yeah. That was. Perfect.”

“Agreed.”

Eventually, Jason has to let James go to strip and tie off the condom, and he goes to get cleaned up (although his legs shake like a motherfucker while he's in the bathroom). When he’s done, he flops onto the mattress, and James returns faithfully to his side, spooning up behind him and holding him close.

Jason’s eyes water a little. He’s overwhelmed. He’s happy. He scrunches them shut, and allows the heartbeat pressed against his back to lull him to sleep.


	4. apocalypse right fucking now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear, loathing, betrayal, and redemption, told between bong rips and french kisses.

As of late, Jason’s pretty sure he's spent more time at James’ apartment than anywhere else combined.

It's not his fault; spending the night with his boyfriend is just too appealing. And after that one night, they've both been on the same page of wanting to make up for lost time. Or, y’know. Something like that.

Jason's a little worried they're gonna get a noise complaint, though.

And if spending the night wasn't good enough, they've got a day off today. After waking up late and making lunch, they'd driven over to the skatepark near James’ apartment.

They've been spending the last few hours skating the pipe together, and as Jason watches his boyfriend loop back and forth, shirt stuck to the muscles of his back with sweat, there's nowhere he'd rather be.

“C’mon, do a 720,” Jason shouts, across to the other side of the vert ramp. He leans back on his board, cheeks hot from hours in the sun. His skin is slick with sweat thanks to the heat. Brushing curls out of his eyes, Jason shifts from foot to foot. “Your turn for a trick.”

“Oh yeah?” James challenges.

 _“Yeah,”_ Jason grins. “Unless you’re too _scared._ ”

And there’s nothing in the world that’ll motivate James like a challenge; Jason knows that first-hand. He knows the buttons and knows when to press them. They play each other so well when they want to.

James grins devilishly, lining his board up on the lip of the ramp. “Okay, baby,” he drawls, “Gonna nail it in one.”

“Uh-huh, put your money where your mouth is,” Jason teases. “Prove it, c’mon.”

He laughs as James gives him a glare. Then James drops into the vert. He loops back and forth, shooting up into the air, hanging so long it almost looks like he’s suspended in midair. Jason would be a liar if he said he wasn’t jealous of the strength James has to give him that airtime.

James loops back once more, flying upwards. Crouching down, he spins once, twice, wheels of his skateboard hitting the side of the ramp. He has to squat to make the landing, his hand catching a bit of the ground to keep himself propped up, but he manages to stick it, and Jason cheers.

“Fuck yeah!” James shouts, grin splitting his face. Jason’s actually very impressed, and super proud. He dismounts at the top of the ramp, and Jason leans in to pepper his cheeks with kisses. When James pulls away, he drops a gauntlet of his own. “Your turn- gimme a varial Mctwist, baby.”

Jason grins. “Too easy,” he says, “You’re on.”

Planting his foot on the nose of his board, Jason drops into the ramp. Looping back and forth, he builds up momentum, making sure he’s got enough to pull off the trick flawlessly. From the corner of his eye, he can see James standing off to the side on the concrete, board under one arm.

And then Jason takes off.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of catching air; nothing like being weightless, if just for a moment. Twisting his board around as he flips, Jason feels that surge of triumph through his veins, ‘cause he’s pulled it off flawlessly, and now he’s just waiting for the landing, preparing for that drop back into the ramp.

Except for the fact that his board catches the lip.

It’s split-second; Jason feels his feet go flying off the board, and suddenly he’s slamming down onto the ramp knees-first and hitting the base on his stomach.

Fuck.

“Oh, shit-”

Jason blinks dazedly. His brain seems to rattle around in his skull for a few moments. He hisses through his teeth as James rolls him over, a white-hot shock of pain ricocheting up his spine like lightning.

“Shit, that was gnarly,” James says, “You okay, baby?”

Groaning, Jason winces as his knee twinges funny. “Think I fucked up my knee,” he mumbles. Sure enough, trailing a hand along his thigh, Jason feels his eyes widen at the slick, hot spread of blood. “Shit.”

There’s a big gash through his knee and up his thigh. Jason feels a little nauseous once he sees how deep it is; there’s a cleft through the flesh, blood bubbling up rapidly, the skin around the area flushed red and already beginning to swell.

James’ face is pale. “Holy shit, that’s-”

“Not good,” Jason deadpans. James touches around the wound with careful fingers, and he bites his lip to stifle a cry. “ _Fuck_ , that hurts.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” James frets. He scoops Jason up into a bridal carry; it’d be kinda funny and maybe a little romantic if he wasn't in pain. “Okay, let’s go, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Jason frowns. “Don’t forget my board,” he mumbles. His leg twinges again and he fists his hand in James’ t-shirt until it passes. “Fuuuuuck-”

“I’ll come back for it.”

Wasting no time, James gets on his padded knees (which Jason sourly notes he should’ve been wearing as well), clutching Jason close to himself, and falls into a controlled slide down the ramp. Even with as little that James jostles him, the tiniest movements of his leg have him groaning in pain. Better than going down the stairs one by one, however.

James gets up and sets toward his car, which is parked a short distance away at the front of the lot. Thank God it’s really just them at this park today.

Jason helps by reaching out to open the door to the back, and then James sets him down on the edge of the seat, as gently as he can. The blood has trailed over James’ left arm and onto his shirt, staining the ratty cotton.

“Okay?” James asks idly.

“Okay,” Jason says, shifting himself back further into the seat. “Think I’m gonna bleed all over your upholstery.”

James blinks. Then he strips off his shirt, because it’s ruined anyway, wads it up and presses it over the wound. Just that contact alone punches the air out of his lungs, and it takes him a minute of wincing and gasping to just catch his breath. “Put pressure on it,” James says sternly. Not having the air to say anything in reply to that, Jason just nods, and pushes himself all the way into the backseat, so he’s propped up against the opposite door, with his leg draped across the rest of the seats.

Shutting the door on him, James hops into the driver’s seat, switches the car on, and whips out of the parking space. The jerking movement of the car shifts his leg, and Jason groans quietly.

Since they’re in James’ turf, he knows where to find urgent care. “One time Dave split his lip open, and another time Nick twisted his ankle, so I know these things,” he says, his voice a little pitched in the worry and nerves, and Jason would say something back, maybe a word of comfort or assurance if he wasn’t in some awful fucking pain.

After about ten minutes, James pulls up to a hole in the wall, and leaves him alone with the assurance he’ll try and get someone out there to help get him in. They are words hardly heeded, cause honestly, Jason is trying to focus on not cracking his back molars as he presses the soaked t-shirt against his wound.

He watches him leave, determinedly strutting into the clinic like he means business. It’s the most serious he’s ever seen James look.

In between the thoughts of pain, he thinks to himself that he’s lucky to have someone like James around. Not even just now, in the way that he’s handling this situation with such confidence and grace, but all the time. He’s a real partner. They support each other, challenge each other, are there for each other whenever they can be.

Jason feels. . . loved.

Which is the first time that he can say he’s ever felt that from someone else.

And well, he feels the same about James. He’s not sure he could say it out loud yet, tell him what he’s feeling. But it exists within him, a real, almost tangible thing.

He loves him.

He feels it especially when James comes back out with a nurse and a wheelchair. _Hallelujah._

Jason’s never seen a faster turnaround time for getting into a bed, and he’s glad to be seen so quickly even if he’s not looking forward to the repair job.

The needle for the anesthetic sucks major ass. Jason hisses through his teeth, hands white-knuckling the sides of the bed. By the time it’s started to work, the sensation of the doctor sanitizing his cut doesn’t even really register. He feels a little gross watching himself get stitched up, though; seeing the needle poke in and out of his flesh is enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin.

James squeezes his hand gently. Jason squeezes back. His pain tolerance runs out quickly, so it ends with Jason clenching his eyes shut, smushing his face into James’ side, wrapping his arms around his middle. James runs his other fingers slowly through his curls.

The touch reassures him, settles him.

By the time he’s stitched-up, freshly sanitized and bandaged, Jason just wants to go home and take a nap for like, three days. At least. He feels like crap, although he's lucky, because it could’ve been so much worse. He could’ve broken something, lost teeth, gotten a concussion. He’d rather suffer through this, no matter how much it sucks.

“Y’know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you not wear pads,” James muses. He’s got an arm hooked around Jason, letting him lean against his side as they half-walk, half-limp through the parking lot. “Guess this puts an end to that.”

Jason huffs out a laugh. “Kinda ironic,” he grins. “You’ve rubbed off on me, I guess.”

James snickers. “Yeah, well, gotta say. I’d rather not see you bust yourself open, baby.”

“Mmm, yeah. I feel like shit.”

“You want anything when we get home?”

“Yeah,” Jason groans, “An Advil and some ice cream. Fuck.”

“Sure thing.”

James helps get him into the passenger’s seat, as tender and ginger as he can possibly be. Then he drives back to his own apartment, obviously making an executive decision for him to stay another night at his place, even though Jason had been intending to go back to his own apartment after they’d finished skating.

At this point, Jason can't disagree with him at all; being alone tonight would be way harder than just having his cute boyfriend at his beck and call.

They take the elevator up once they're back at James’ apartment, their pace significantly slower than normal. James doesn’t say anything, though, just helps him through the doorway and to the bedroom so he can get changed out of his sweaty, blood-stained clothes.

His shorts and shirt end up in James’ laundry basket in favour of a too-big pair of sweatpants. Then, because he's starting to get tired, James basically hauls him out into the living room and gets him comfy on the couch.

Jason sags back into the cushions, turning on the tv and boredly scrolling through the channels. The anaesthetic’s started to wear off, and now there’s an insistent, dull pulse of pain radiating outwards from his leg that times itself to the beat of his heart.

In other words, it sucks. God, Jason already loathes having to shower with those stitches.

James comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water and a bowl of ice cream. “Here,” he says, passing Jason the glass and a couple pills. Jason tosses them back and drinks half the glass in one go, a little surprised by how thirsty he is. Then he laughs, taking the bowl and seeing it’s full of rocky road. “Need anything else?”

“Just you,” Jason murmurs, grinning as James slides in behind him, letting him lean against his chest. His arms wrap around Jason, warm and soothing. “Thanks.”

“‘Course, baby,” James says. He kisses the top of Jason’s head.

Halfway through an episode of Miami Vice, Jason’s feeling pretty good. He’s finished the ice cream, empty bowl discarded on James’ coffee table. Jason yawns, a little sleepy; he could go for a nap right about now.

James must notice, because he laughs a little. Jason grins dazedly up at him, face upside-down. He wants to stay up and be with James, but after what he’s been through today, sleeping is starting to sound really good.

“You look exhausted, babe,” James says, a flat observation of fact.

On cue, Jason yawns. “Yeah. I kinda wanna go lay down,” he says, but he makes no commitment to those intentions. The seven feet or so from the couch to the bedroom might as well be miles. He's too fucking tired. “Mmm, in a few minutes or so.”

“Alright, let me know when you’re ready and I’ll cat nap with you,” James tells him, giving him a little squeeze.

Though eventually, Jason’s eyes get heavier, and heavier, and he closes them, just for a moment. The dialogue on the TV becomes vague, less distinct, before it disappears and he’s gone to the world.

───

James isn’t sure when Jason falls asleep, but he notices when he asks him if he’s ready to go to bed and he doesn’t answer. Eyes closed, a slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. Seems he didn’t need to be asked.

Looking down upon him, James brushes a stray lock of hair off of his cheek, to tuck it behind his ear. Jason really is beautiful. It’s not the first time he’s ever thought so, but he notices it so distinctly then. All of the sharp angles of his face, the thick, pretty eyelashes, the small curve of his cupid bow on those thin lips that he’s had the privilege to kiss.

How did they get here, James wonders. Though perhaps that’s not the real question. What he means is: what did he do to get someone like Jason? Jason, with all his lust for life, his great talents and successes, his passion, the love he gives to others. Jason, who builds him up, who makes him feel so valued. He wonders what he sees in him.

Regardless, there’s one thing he doesn’t have to wonder. What he knows is that Jason cares for him a great deal, and he makes sure James knows it in all of the late night fast food runs, stolen kisses, the gasps and moans and long drags of nails in the bedroom, words of encouragement and congratulations at competitions.

He loves him. He’s becoming more and more certain of that every day.

James picks his tired lover up in a bridal carry. Jason’s head nuzzles into his shoulder, and he swears his heart could burst. Yes, he loves him, more than he ever has with anyone before, more than knew he could ever have the capacity to do.

With heavy footsteps, he brings them both to James’ bed. When he sets Jason down he doesn’t stir, doesn’t make a sound, dead to the world. Good. Let him rest. He deserves it.

After pulling the covers over him, he gets underneath them to join him, sidling in close to face him until can feel the soft ghosting of Jason’s breath over his cheek.

He didn’t realize it before, how tired he is after both skating and going to the doctors, but the moment he lies down he can feel its weight so keenly.

Eventually sleep takes him, and he falls, falls, until he fades away, interrupting the count of Jason’s eyelashes.

+

It happens like this: the competition is long finished, Lars leaves to do an interview with Kirk as scheduled, and Jason calls James to give him the all clear to come to his hotel room while he’s gone. They’re supposed to have two hours before Lars should come back. It’s a perfect window of opportunity to fuck, and then they can part ways leaving Lars none the wiser. Maybe even get a shower in together. Right?

Not. Because Lars’ interview gets canceled, and he comes back after forty-five minutes. While Jason’s still busy riding James’ dick like his life depends on it.

And ‘cause they’re occupied, they don’t hear the key in the door. Or the knob turning. They don’t hear anything until the door swings open and there’s Lars, fiddling with his wallet.

“Hey, Jase, c’mon dude, we’re gonna get McDonalds and- _oh fuck!”_

Jason freezes. It’s like all the air in the room disappears immediately, everything going flat.

He turns his head. Lars is standing in the doorway, mouth agape, his eyes so blown-out in shock it’d almost be funny, if, y’know. Jason wasn’t involved. And wasn’t busy. He can feel the way James’ pulse jackrabbits under his hands, and Jason’s distantly aware of his face burning, but it’s like he’s turned to stone from mortification.

Lars’ wallet goes tumbling out of his hands and hits the floor with a thump.

And, just like that, the spell breaks. Jason lets out a weird little half-yelp, scrambling wildly for the sheets. He pulls them up over himself and James, as if he could really try and cover this up in any meaningful way. His face is so hot it’s beginning to hurt. James doesn’t even move; he’s just laying there underneath Jason, stuck staring at Lars in the doorway.

“Dude, what the fuck- get out!”

“I- holy shit,” Lars mumbles. He’s still standing there, blinking dumbly at the two of them. “ _Holy fucking shit._ ”

Jason wrings the sheet between his hands. He has to swallow down a groan at the feeling of James shifting underneath him, ‘cause he’s trying to focus on this problem, and the fact that James is still miraculously hard inside him is really throwing him off. Jason bites his lip, shivering a little as James’ hips twitch up. It takes all his effort to suppress a needy whimper, but the mortifying idea of Lars holding it over his head is a pretty good motivator.

His dick’s already gone half-hard from embarrassment by this point. And yet. Jesus fucking Christ. Trying to save face, Jason stutters out an excuse.

“It's not- it's not what it looks like.”

“Really?” Lars raises an eyebrow. “‘Cause it looks like you and Blondie here are having a romp in the sheets.”

“Lars,” Jason hisses, “I swear to god, dude, I’m gonna kick your ass. Get the fuck out-”

“I knew it,” Lars mumbles, and then his face splits into a smirk. “Holy shit, I was _right_ , Kirk owes me a fiver, man.”

Jason doesn't even know what to say to that.

“Dude,” James says incredulously, “You guys were betting on whether or not we were fucking?” Jason briefly turns to look at the man underneath him with a pointed glare, because he is so not helping right now.

Lars shrugs. “I had a hunch,” he grins, as if this is the highlight of his day, stumbling in on his friend getting his brain cells fucked out. If Jason wasn’t in such a state of panic, he’d recognize the humor in it. “Kirk thought you guys weren't, but c’mon. It was obvious.”

Grabbing the half-empty water bottle on the night-table, Jason chucks it at Lars, and it hits him smack in the forehead.

“Ow!”

“Get out, dude, what the fuck,” Jason says- it comes out a little whiny at the end, half from embarrassment and half from impatience. “You can gloat later, for fuck’s sake. I’m kind of fucking busy, okay?”

Lars grabs his wallet off the floor, rubbing at his forehead as he shoots Jason a leer. “Uh-huh, have fun and use protection, kids,” he sing-songs, the door slamming shut behind him. They distantly hear him in the hallway of the hotel. “Holy shit, Kirk’s not gonna fucking believe-”

The room goes quiet. Silence hangs in the air.

Then James starts to laugh. Jason rolls his eyes, but a little snicker bursts out of his mouth, and soon enough they’re both crying with laughter. Slumping forwards, Jason giggles against the crook of James’ neck, nose pressed against warm skin. James smells good, like cologne and sweat and something else. Jason lets out a sigh.

“Jesus christ, what the fuck,” James mumbles. His hand strokes along Jason’s spine. Jason hums dazedly. “He’s the little motor-mouth, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So everyone’s gonna know you were sitting on my dick after the competition, huh?”

“Fuck, probably,” Jason grimaces. “Consorting with the enemy, or whatever Lars is gonna call it. Fucking gremlin.”

James hums as he considers this. “You care?”

“Not if you don’t.”

“Then yeah,” James grins, “Guess it’s about time. Fuck ‘em. C’mere.”

Now that’s settled, he pulls Jason into a kiss. Jason moans a little, his eyes fluttering shut. His senses feel like they’re on overdrive, everything too-much as James’ hands drift down, one wrapping around his dick and the other squeezing his ass.

“Jesus- fuck,” Jason gasps, “James--”

James presses kisses along the line of his jaw. “Yeah,” he mumbles. His hand twists slow, thumb rubbing over the head of Jason’s dick. Jason swallows a whimper. “I’m so- fuck, not gonna last.”

Jason laughs. “Mmm, can’t believe you’re still hard after that.”

“Fucking you makes it pretty hard to go limp,” James smirks. He speeds up his strokes. Jason feels his toes curl, his head lolling forwards as James punctuates his words with a roll of his hips. “Just wanna feel good. Make you feel good.”

And that's almost too much. Jason feels his face burn a little, and he has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle an honest-to-god whine.

“Fuck,” he moans. James’ hips buck up, startling a whimper out of him, and Jason grinds his hips back against James’ slow, easy thrusts. He's gotten hard again somewhere in between, and each stroke of James' hand drags him closer to the edge. “Keep- c’mon, please.”

“Yeah?” James’ voice is ragged, pitched low with desire. It sets Jason on fire, his dick leaking precum all over James’ fingers.

“Uh-huh-- oh, fuck-”

His whole fucking body shudders as James squeezes his ass with his other hand. A stray finger dips between Jason's cheeks, tracing his slick rim. Jason hears his whine pitch to a sob at the rush of sensations, too much for his overstrung body.

Pressing his lips to James’, Jason kisses him hard, gasping raggedly into his mouth as white-hot pleasure concentrates in his guts. Neither of them bother to prolong it; they’re too close, too wrapped-up in each other to care.

Even the embarrassment of Lars walking in on them can’t spoil it for Jason. He’s so fucking gone for James it’s ridiculous, wants nothing more than to be able to kiss him like this forever, skin flush to skin and breaths intermingling. Something warm in between the two of them, intangible and tender.

“Mmm- gonna,” James moans, “Baby, I can't- fuck-”

“C’mon, yeah,” Jason mumbles, forehead pressed to James’, lips brushing against each other’s with his words. “Yeah, please-”

James’ hips buck up, his head tilting back against the pillows. His eyes flutter shut, a long, low moan tearing from his mouth, so deep and heavy it rumbles through Jason's bones.

It's like a shock of lightning. Skin prickling with heat, slick with sweat.

Jason feels his high wash over him out of nowhere. It’s hot, ebbs through his nerves, lights him up from the inside-out. Jason whimpers, hips twitching as he comes all over James’ stomach, shivering at the feeling of James grinding into him, slick and wet.

Then it’s over, everything drawn-out. Jason breathes hard, shuddering a little through the last aftershocks. James looks half-asleep under him, his eyes nearly slipping shut.

Jason traces his lips with a finger, slow and steady. James’ mouth turns up in a smile. His hands are warm, slow as they trail over Jason's hips and up his back.

“Hey,” James murmurs. Their faces are inches from each other’s. Jason blinks dazedly, his eyes taking a moment to focus. “You- you good?”

Nodding, Jason stretches a little, his thighs slightly achy. “Yeah, m’good,” he sighs, “Really good.” He pulls up slow, James’ softening cock slipping out of his ass, and Jason groans.

He can feel the slick mess of lube leak out of him. James’ fingers skim through it, trailing up to tease around his asshole. Jason shudders. He shoots James a glare.

James’ answering grin is pleased, dazed. He strips the condom off, ties it up and chucks it lazily into the trash can. Grabbing a kleenex off the night table, James wipes the drying mess of cum off his belly with love-drunk hands, slow and clumsy. His palms trail over a big purpling bruise on Jason’s thigh from a fuck-up while practicing, skimming over the scar around his knee.

“Hey,” Jason mumbles. He tweaks one of James’ nipples in retaliation, grinning as James hisses through his teeth. “What’re you doing?”

“Does it still hurt?” James pauses, his thumb catching the edge of the scar where Jason’s skin is still a little tender. Jason winces.

“Yeah, when you do that.”

“Sorry,” James yawns. He pulls Jason close, arms wrapping around his back, turning them onto their sides. The shift in position means Jason has to throw both his legs over James’ hips in order for them to stay close.

Jason kisses over James’ cheeks, over the bridge of his nose and the corner of his mouth before kissing him properly. James hums. The room is hot and stifled, and everything feels a little slowed down, somewhat nebulous.

“You want a cigarette?”

“Yeah,” Jason yawns. “You gonna grab them?”

“Nah.”

“Well, tough shit. I’m not moving.”

They both laugh.

There’s a beat. Remembering about who walked in on them a few minutes before, his tone shifts. “Man, I’m not looking forward to the fallout we’re probably gonna get after Lars tells everyone,” Jason mutters. “I can just see it now…”

James shrugs. “Can't be any worse than my teammates,” he says easily. “Still can't believe those fuckers were betting on us.”

“I can’t believe Kirk thought we weren't,” Jason laughs. “Should've been fucking obvious to him.”

“Well, it’s about to get real obvious as soon as Lars is done making his rounds telling everybody,” James says with an eyeroll.

“I don’t wanna worry about all that right now,” Jason mumbles. He wants to have these last few moments of peace before everything implodes when everybody knows. “Let’s just cuddle.”

James doesn’t argue with that, and he pulls Jason in closer, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, to his cheeks, and to his lips.

+

When James gets back to his room, he’s confronted by Cliff, Dave, and Nick, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Freezing in the doorway, he looks at them, looks at their stern faces, and well, yeah, he knows what this is about. It’s not even worth pretending. He’s caught and he knows it. The least he can do is try and break up the tension a little.

Cliff looks like he’s trying not to laugh. James has a sinking suspicion Jason’s little teammate is behind this. Well, actually, not a suspicion. He knows it was fucking Lars. Goddamn him.

“Uh-”

“Welcome back, _cheater,_ ” Dave snarls. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Alright guys, you got me,” James says, putting his hands up. “Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Nick scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’ve been fucking a member of the goddamn Bones Brigade, man, and you’re gonna tell us it’s not a big deal?”

“Didn’t realize it mattered so much what I do in my personal life,” James mumbles, shaking his head.

“Of fucking course it does, dude. We hate them, remember? They’re our fucking competition, and here you go doing this shit.”

James huffs; his hands curl into fists by his side. “Fuck you guys. I’m not gonna stop seeing him. We’re together, and you need to get the fuck over it.” He’s not about to apologize for something he’s not sorry for.

Cliff, probably sensing that this might spiral, decides to step in. “What I think these two chucklefucks are trying to say,” he says, cuffing Dave and Nick around the ears, “Is that it would've been nice to know from the beginning. Especially ‘cause you felt you had to sneak around. That’s our fault, man.”

James picks at a fingernail; he watches Dave and Nick sheepishly rub their now-sore ears.

“Look,” Cliff sighs, “Dude, you’re our friend. If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters. Getting bullheaded over some rivalry isn't worth it.”

“Oh. I- thanks, Cliff.”

“‘Course, man. If this is what you want, then we,” he says, pointedly giving both Dave and Nick a light noogie, “Just gotta get over the whole Bones thing. We wanna be there for you no matter what. That’s what being on a team is about - having each others’ backs.”

“I’ve never seen you so sappy before, dude.”

“I’m only sappy when it matters, _dude._ ”

Dave raises an eyebrow. “Real sweet. But okay, yeah. We’re happy for you, or whatever,” he says. James knows that’s about as close as Dave gets to a genuine apology; he’ll take it. “I wanna know which one of them it is, though.”

“That little fucker didn’t tell you?” James would’ve thought that who it is would’ve been the most important part.

“Nah. He just fucking showed up out of the blue, and was like ‘you guys aren’t gonna believe this’,” Dave mocks, trying to copy the accent. His imitation sucks. “So while he spilled the dirt about you getting it on with one of his teammates, he didn’t even tell us which one. Dumbass.”

“Uh, well, you’re not gonna be happy about _this,_ ” James laughs nervously. “It’s kind of, uh. Jason Newsted?”

The room erupts into chaos. Dave and Nick begin yelling and groaning at the same time, while Cliff just buries his face in his hands.

“You’re fucking _him?_ Dude!”

“You can’t be for fucking real. We thought it’d be that curly haired twink! Well. The other curly-haired twink.”

Cliff’s laughing like it’s funniest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “Go big or go home, huh?”

James feels his face burn. “I- it’s not like that,” he says weakly. “I’m not, like. Trying to bag some big-name skateboarder, or something like that.”

“I know, dude,” Cliff grins. “Just teasing. Whatever, man. If he makes you happy, then.”

“You’d like him! He’s into a lot of the same stuff you guys are. The Bones guys aren’t even, like, that dorky,” James defends. “If you met him, you’d get it.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. “Hang on. Is _that_ why you started wearing kneepads?”

“No, it's because it’s safe, dick.” James huffs impatiently. “Look, so. Now that you know, or whatever. Maybe you guys should meet them? Get to know them?”

“Why?” Nick asks. “Just because you’re with Jason doesn’t mean we’re gonna mix with his team. They're so lame.”

“Well, cause I’m with Jason, I’m going to be around the Bones guys more, and eventually, you guys probably will, too.”

Nick visibly recoils, his face twisting. He looks like he wants to say something, but before he has a chance, Cliff interjects.

“A _great_ idea!” He claps his hands together like it’s a done deal, and he stands up from the bed. “Now, Dave and Nick are gonna go back to their room, and I’ll go out later and talk to Lars and see if that can get set up somehow!”

Dave and Nick stare up at James and Cliff blankly.

“Enough niceties. Get out,” Cliff says flatly, and they immediately get up and do so. As soon as the door slams and they’re gone, James feels the belligerence leave with them. What’s left is the tension. He still has to address Cliff about this.

“Thanks,” James murmurs. “Sorry. For, y’know. Lying, and sneaking around. I just… didn’t think this would turn out well.”

“Hey, man, you don't owe me nothing,” Cliff says. It's firm, leaving no room for discussion, yet softened by his warm smile. “Okay?”

God, James is so lucky to have a friend like Cliff. He really is. If he had to count his blessings, that man would make the top of the list. “Okay.”

“Now give me like an hour and a half to smoke and take this all in, and then I’ll go hash things out with Lars.”

+

When there’s a knock at the door, Lars isn’t expecting to open it to Cliff Burton.

Lars blinks dumbly up at him. He’s standing there, all six-foot-two of him in double denim and a flannel that's probably seen better days. Even though Lars figures he’s the most levelheaded of his Posse, he’s still an Alva.

And, well. Lars knows he just stirred the pot. He’s a little worried it’s coming back to bite him in the ass now.

“Uh, hi?” Lars says through the narrow crack he allots.

“Hey. Just wanted to talk. That cool?”

Lars raises an eyebrow. “About what?”

Cliff huffs a dry laugh and puts his hands in the pockets of his bell bottoms. “About the fact that we’re in-laws now.”

“Ah,” Lars says, and he relaxes and opens the door a little bit wider, jutting his hip into the jamb. “What d’you wanna discuss?”

“Diplomacy,” Cliff says sagely. Reaching up inside of his denim breast pocket, he takes something out and then he shows Lars what he has in his hand. An Altoid tin; he pops the lid and inside are a few pre-rolls. “I come bearing a peace offering.”

Lars’ eyebrows reach his hairline. That’s good enough for him. Stepping aside, he opens the door to allow Cliff to enter, and as Cliff passes him, he offers the gift to his host, who accepts it graciously.

Cliff perches himself on the edge of the unoccupied bed, across from where Kirk is lounging on the other queen watching TV. As Lars allows the door to slam shut behind him, he can see that Kirk looks positively bewildered, like he wants to say something but has no idea where to start.

“Uh. Cliff is here to talk,” Lars tells Kirk, and he crosses the room to sit on the bed with him. “About the situation.”

“Ah, yes, the _situation,_ ” Kirk deadpans, and resumes watching the rerun of Wild Kingdom. “Sure.”

Cliff clears his throat. “So. You guys knew about this?”

Straightening up, Lars puffs out his chest a little and crosses his legs. “Well, yeah. I figured it out all by myself.”

Behind him, Kirk snorts. “Uh, no you didn’t. You walked in on them fucking.”

“Yeah, but I walked in on them all by myself. You didn’t pull your weight in the detective work, Kirk,” Lars snaps, turning his head in his direction without quite looking at him. “So yeah, I’d say I did it all by myself.”

“I wasn’t involved ‘cause I’m not a drama queen like you, _Lars_ ,” Kirk tells him, and from now on, Lars decides to ignore him.

“Okay, Jesus, you guys,” Cliff says, rubbing at his tired eyes with a weary hand. Lars turns to face his guest once more. “Point is, I came here because now that this is a thing, the Bones Brigade and the Alva Posse are gonna have to start getting along.”

Lars’ fingers restlessly play with the Altoids tin in his hands. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too,” he frowns, then clarifies, “Y’know. Figuring out a truce, or whatever.”

Cliff nods pensively. “How to do it,” he ponders. Digging in the pocket of his jacket, Cliff procures his zippo and tosses it over to Lars. “Light us one.”

“Oh my god,” Kirk huffs, clearly exasperated. Lars can practically hear his eye roll. “They’re fucking a bunch. Big deal.”

Plucking a joint out of the tin, Lars easily sparks up and takes a long hard pull before he passes it to Cliff. Cliff accepts it and takes a drag.

“I was thinking,” Cliff begins. “Perhaps we should have a summit. More like a night out together. Just skate and drink or something.” Lars nods as he talks. “Our rivalry is fucking stupid, anyways. Those two might be a good excuse to clear the air.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Lars replies. “I know that I could get my team to come around. How are, uh. Your boys feeling about all this?”

Cliff passes the jointback to Lars. He blows out the smoke before he speaks and Kirk wordlessly gets up to open a window. “They’re taking it a little hard, but I’ll reign ‘em in.”

“Sure,” Lars agrees. “I mean, I’m curious. What’s your guys’ deal, anyways? Like, what’s your beef with us? I wanna know where we’re at.”

“To be honest? Completely honest? Pulling no punches?” Cliff grins a little. “The general consensus is that you guys are a bunch of overachieving pussies. Softies. Y’all could do well getting a little bit of dirt on you or something. You’re all too… _nice_.”

“I beg to differ,” Lars retorts. He takes a drag from the blunt. “I mean, most of the time you guys look like nothing more than wake and bake skaters who live more for the party and less for the sport.”

“That’s probably true of some of our members,” Cliff laughs. “But we’ve got a real drive, too. I mean, James is really the heartbeat of this thing, y’know? One of the best skaters we’ve got.”

“Huh. Makes me wonder how James and Jason even got together. Considering all this shit, y’know.” It occurs to Lars that, well, his perception of the Alva Posse might be skewed as well. Rivals that work on appearances and rumors without ever having spoken to each other. It’s hardly fair. “Probably a lot to learn about each other.”

“Which is why I suggested the summit,” Cliff supplies.

Can’t know until you try, Lars thinks. Since Lars wants Jason to be happy, and undoubtedly the Alva’s feel the same about their boy, perhaps it could work. “Alright, so what d’you wanna do?”

Behind him, Lars hears Kirk mutter something about this not being the fucking Geneva Convention. He’d tell Kirk to leave because he’s ruining the fragile diplomatic atmosphere, but he also knows Kirk’s got nowhere better to go, so there's nothing he can really do.

Which doesn't stop him from being annoying, unfortunately.

“I don’t know. Throwing a party at someone’s house. Or doing dinner. Something where we can all just be together and chill without it being competitive.”

And now Cliff is speaking a language that Lars understands. If it were an Olympic sport, he’d be the gold medalist of house party throwing. Several things work in his favor: not only does his father leave a lot for work, he also leaves the keys for the liquor cabinet on the kitchen counter. And Lars arguably has the largest pad in the Bones Brigade.

“Well,” Lars grins, “Good thing I’ve got a big house. And a pool I can drain in the backyard.”

“If you’d be willing to host, and set up a date, I can try to round up my guys and we can be there,” Cliff agrees.

“You think your team’s gonna agree to it?”

“I’ll make sure they play nice.”

The covenant between them is sealed as Lars passes the joint back to Cliff with the insistence that he finish it, who smokes it down to the roach.

They figure out a time where nobody is off competing, set for a Saturday night a week and a half from now. Lars scribbles down his address on some of the hotel stationery and gives it to Cliff for safekeeping.

Lars walks Cliff to the door and bids him a good night, nodding to each other with a newfound sense of understanding between them, before closing the door with a finality.

For the first time in a while, Kirk pipes up. “You made that more dramatic than it ever needed to be, dude.” Lars collapses onto the bed, feeling too good to allow Kirk to harsh the mellow of some quality grass and a successful negotiation. After a moment, Kirk shrugs. “Kinda looking forward to the party, though.”

Grinning, Lars rolls over. “Duh, ‘course you are. They don't call me the keg king for nothing.”

“Nobody calls you that.”

“Shut up.”

+

A week and a half passes quickly, almost in a blur of competitions, and before they know it Saturday night rolls around.

Cliff insists they make a good impression, so they show up right on time for once in their lives. And for such a special occasion, he makes sure to bring some Coors, ‘cause it's a foolproof way to get into anyone's good graces.

He'd know; nothing better than experience, after all.

Lars mentioned his house was big, but he wasn’t expecting this. Across a lawn of perfectly precisely trimmed grass sits the house: two stories, giant pillars holding up the dark stone facade, with enormous windows, ivy creeping and curling around the structure. It’s maybe another thousand square feet and a security gate guard away from being a mansion, if it wouldn’t be called so already.

As they walk up to the house, Dave leans into Cliff’s side. He's lugging the case under his arm, and the edge of the cardboard digs into Cliff’s ribs. “Man, if this blows, I’m ditching. Diplomacy be damned.”

“It won’t, and no, _you_ won’t,” Cliff tells him. “Besides, Kirk's gonna be there.”

Then he has to stifle a grin at the way Dave's attention noticeably perks up. It's hilarious, ‘cause Dave will never admit that he likes him, as much as it’s so painfully obvious at how he drools over his Thrasher articles and sticks around for his runs. Dave’s called him the ‘least irritating’ of the Bones Brigade, but Cliff knows that’s just Mustaine-speak for ‘I think he’s cool and dorky-cute and that's just my type.’

In the distance, loud, indistinct punk music blares over a speaker. Underneath it, he can hear the sounds of wheels rolling over ground and light cheers coming from behind the house.

It won’t be bad at all.

The front door is open, so Cliff, Dave, and Nick take the liberty of letting themselves in. Lars and the quiet one, Junior, are there to greet them. Those who have already been there have seemed to waste no time; they’ve already dug into some of the pizza boxes, and there’s the thick stench of pot smoke in the air.

“Hey!” Lars says, ever the gracious host. “Um, we started a little early. Get some food and come outside. We’re dicking around in my pool.”

“I can tell,” Cliff grins, a little bemused. Junior wordlessly takes the case from Dave and heads off somewhere towards the kitchen. “James already here?”

A loud, raucous round of cheers and applause cuts off Lars’ reply. Cliff turns his head towards the noise, trying to see if he can get a glimpse of any of the action, and he catches someone with a head of curly hair in bright clothes grinding the lip of the pool.

“Out back,” Lars grins, “You want some pizza?”

“I came for the food,” Nick abruptly says, snatching a slice up before he guns it to the open sliding-glass doors to get to where the action is. Cliff rolls his eyes. Jackass.

Though Cliff and Dave do the same before they go to the pool.

Lars’ backyard is fucking _massive_ ; Cliff raises an eyebrow, half in shock and half in amusement. It'd already been a lot seeing how big the house was, and this is the icing on the cake.

Dave whistles slowly. “Goddamn, fucker’s parents must be loaded,” he says, “What the fuck.”

That's an understatement. Cliff says as much.

“Yeah, fucking hell,” Dave grins. “Je-sus.” He splits to have a look at the pool.

Throughout the backyard, various skaters from other teams are milling about, alternating between lounging in the grass eating pizza and smoking or shredding the pool. When Cliff looks closer, he spots James’ helmet with the signature Motörhead sticker on the side, and makes his way across the lawn.

James leans in to say something to whoever is sitting next to him, and as Cliff comes closer, he realizes it’s Jason. Strange, he’s seen him from afar but never up close.

He instantly recognizes the Misfits sticker on Jason's board, though. Cliff’s a simple man. Someone’s into what he’s into, and he likes them. He decides Jason must be cool. James wouldn’t accept anything less.

“Lovebirds,” he addresses them. James and Jason turn to look up at him, and he grins. “We made it.”

“Thanks for making everyone come, man,” James grins, sounding earnest and genuine.

“Nah, they wanted to come,” Cliff shakes his head. “You matter more than any of the bullshit between the teams.”

James furrows his brow, and looks genuinely touched. It’s the softest Cliff has ever seen him look. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but they’re pulled away from the conversation by the raucous screaming and shouting across the way.

They all look and see that Dave and Nick are at the edge of the pool, yelling at Kirk to do tricks like their own personal show pony.

“See? They’re already getting along,” Cliff gestures out to the pool, and Jason bursts out in giggles.

“Alright, better go join ‘em, babe,” Jason says, getting up. James complains about having to get up, whining that his legs are too broken to stand, though he seems to make a full recovery when Jason offers him his hands and helps pull James to his feet.

When they stand face to face, Jason gives James a big wet kiss on his mouth before turning on his heel to join the rest of the party.

After watching him go, Cliff turns back to James and grins, a little bemused. “Well, aren’t you two cute.”

James has the stones to look a little bashful. “Yeah, well,” he shrugs, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, “He's, uh. Makes me look good.”

“I'm happy for you, man,” Cliff says. He's glad James has someone like Jason in his life; it's obvious how much Jason loves him, and Cliff can tell they're right for each other. “C’mon, let's go skate. Before your boyfriend shows us all up.”

James laughs.

+

Jason’s not, like. 100% sure how they end up sitting in the goddamn pool.

He’s a little drunk, and now, as Lars passes around a bong that Jason knows he stole a few months ago, he’s well on his way to getting pleasantly buzzed. It’s all the Alva guys and the Bones crew, sharing some of Cliff’s stash, chattering amongst each other as the boombox plays where someone’s dragged it into the pool with them.

The sun’s starting to go down; the heat of the day is finally mellowing to an easy warmth, and when Jason tips his head back, sitting cross-legged and leaning on his hands, he can see the clouds drift slow, sky all orangey-red.

James nudges his side with his elbow. Jason hums dazedly.

“C’mere,” James grins. He opens his legs where he's sitting with his arms on his knees. Jason scooches over and gets in between, leaning back against James’ chest. James wraps a strong arm around him. “Yeah, s’better. Now I can kiss you.”

Jason laughs. “Last I checked you don't need an excuse,” he mumbles. He plays with the big skull ring on James’ finger. “You’re my boyfriend, you can kiss me whenever.”

James’ smile is blinding. Jason can feel it against his lips when they kiss.

Someone complains that they have the munchies, and soon enough they end up raiding Lars’ pantry for snacks. Everyone grabs what they can and then they book it up to Lars’ room so they can lounge around and put on a record.

“Dude, I just got this one,” Lars grins. He holds up the new Frank Zappa release and places it on the turntable while everybody digs in.

And while Jason feels a little bad about the mess, watching as Kirk tears open a bag of chips and spills them all over the carpet of Lars’ room, he's too high to care that much. Because what matters right now are the bags of Funyuns and Kisses in his lap.

He rips the bag open and takes a couple out. The chocolate’s a little soft, half-melted, but it still tastes good. Really fucking good. Like, dear God, this is the best Hershey’s he’s ever tasted. Has it always been this good?

“Babe, this is- try,” Jason says. He shoves an unwrapped one in the general direction of James’ mouth, nearly clipping him in the chin. James opens his mouth and lets Jason put the chocolate in. “You’ll like it.”

“Holy shit, that’s good- what the fuck?”

“ _Right?_ ”

And they do as stoners do, staring off into the distance, eating, listening to music, sitting in the vibes. Eventually, someone has to break the silence.

“God, listen, you know what?” Dave asks. “We drove by that Waffle House on the way here, and like. I am thinking so hard about it right now.”

“For once, I’m glad you spoke up, man,” Cliff says, around a mouthful of a Snickers bar. “Fuck, I could go for some waffles.”

Nick moans. “I would kill for some french toast right now.”

“Guys lets do it, lets go get some fuckin’ Waffle House,” James says, throwing aside his bag of vanilla wafers and standing up. He offers his hand to Jason, and pulls him up. They leave hand in hand out of Lars’ room. Dave and Cliff and Nick immediately get up and follow them like sharks after blood, and Lars and Kirk tail them.

Lars kicks everyone else out of his house, the party mostly having dissipated anyways.

They all end up grabbing their boards out of the backyard before they flood onto the street, chatting and laughing as they head to the car. The night’s begun to cool down, the sun disappearing below the horizon, streetlights glimmering. Cliff tosses Kirk his keys and they pile into his pickup truck; it’s a tight squeeze, and Jason ends up in James’ lap in the backseats, skateboards in the cab.

Immediately the truck is filled with their clamouring voices. Cliff busies himself with putting in a tape since he’s in the passenger seat, and Kirk starts up the truck. Dave and Lars bicker over something- Jason isn’t paying attention, too busy wincing when Nick accidentally jabs him in the side with an elbow.

“What a fuckin’ mess,” James groans. “These waffles better be worth it.”

“Doing anything is worth it as long as I’m with you.” Jason leans in to kiss James firmly on the cheek.

───

The Waffle House they pull up to is completely dead; the one waitress raises an eyebrow at them as they settle into a booth, but she brings them over the stained menus and heads to the kitchen for drinks.

James blinks dazedly at the menu on the table. It takes him a second to parse through all the words; to be honest, he doesn't even really like waffles. But he’s not really here for the food. He's a lot more occupied with Jason next to him, ‘cause he keeps leaning in to kiss James every few seconds.

And fuck, it's so good.

“Hey,” Jason mumbles. His grey eyes are so dazed and soft it makes James melt. He absentmindedly presses a kiss to the bridge of Jason's nose. “You wanna- wanna share a plate?”

“Sure,” James says easily. He pulls Jason into his lap. Jason straddles his thighs with a bit of drunken grace. He’s wearing one of James’ old hoodies; James tugs on one of the strings, grinning as Jason squirms and laughs. “Busy right now, though.”

“With what?”

“Making out with you, duh.”

Jason snickers. “Uh-huh,” he murmurs, and then he swiftly cups James’ cheeks and kisses him so deep James feels his remaining brain cells combust.

If any of the others are bothered by it, they don’t say anything. In fact, they hardly pay it any mind. It's all background static in James’ mind, his hazy brain only focused on Jason, all Jason.

He lets his hands drift down, grabbing Jason's ass. That gets a moan, muffled against his lips, and Jason's hands cup his cheeks, kisses insistent and sloppy.

There's a wolf-whistle from someone near them.

James pulls back, his lips detaching from Jason's with a slick pop! Sure enough, the rest of them at the table are smirking, and James feels his face heat a little as Dave whistles again, long and slow.

“Shut up,” James grouses. “Fuckin’ dicks.”

“Keep it PG, kids,” Cliff laughs, “Y’know what they say about putting a wrapper on it…”

Any good retort is disrupted by the waitress coming by to take their orders. She doesn’t even seem to be fazed by the soft-core foreplay James and Jason are engaging in. Knowing this line of work, she’s seen worse.

With Jason settled in his lap, they pass the time talking to each other.

At some point- James is kind of losing track of time- their food comes. If he'd figured that would have slowed any of them down, though, he's completely wrong, ‘cause Lars and Kirk are now arguing over which aerial trick is better with their mouths full of half-chewed waffles.

“Dude, admit it. McTwist all the way.” Kirk pops a bite of waffle into his mouth.

“You're fucking biased, man. You're only picking it ‘cause it's one you're best at.”

“That's not being biased, it's called recognizing strengths. You're just pissy ‘cause you can't do a McTwist.”

“I- that's not true!” Lars slams his fists down on the table, catching the edge of Dave’s plate and sending his utensils flying. “Oops.”

“Thanks,” Dave frowns, looking down at his waffle that’s sitting on the grimy tile floors, completely ruined. “Great.” It’s the most solemn he’s ever looked, like he’s at a funeral.

“You can have some of mine,” Kirk says. Centering the plate between then, he passes Dave a spare fork. “Hope you like blueberries.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re one of my favorites.”

James snickers as Dave begins to dig in. It's so, so fucking obvious he's got a thing for Kirk. He's startled out of his thoughts when Jason presses a fork against his lips, a chunk of waffle on the end.

“Wanna bite?”

“Yeah,” James says. He opens his mouth, and Jason puts the fork between his lips. James makes a show of pulling it off the fork, allowing the tongs to slide out between his teeth with a ‘shng!’ before he leans in to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. “Mmm, thanks.”

Jason grins. “Oh, you got a little…”

“Where?”

“Let me get it,” Jason mumbles, kissing him on the lips, slow and sweet.

Lars makes a fake gagging sound. “Gross, no more mushy bullshit!” Kirk thwacks him across the back of the head.

A sausage sails over James’ right shoulder, and ends up in the empty booth across from them. He picks up a slice of toast before whipping around to find who to throw it back at; at the other end of the table it’s dissolved to chaos, Marty and David chucking fruit salad at Nick. James lobs it over in their direction.

A stray grape hits Dave smack in the cheek. Kirk splutters out a laugh, giggling wildly as Dave gets him in a headlock. Soon enough Lars is shouting, leaning up on the table and barely managing to shield himself against getting pelted with soggy waffle chunks.

In the midst of it all is Cliff. He sends James a tired glance, somehow managing to look so world-weary James can only laugh. Then Lars upends the syrup bottle all over the table, haphazardly tossing a stray bunch of hashbrowns at the other side of the booth. He somehow succeeds in completely missing Dave and Nick, and instead nails Kirk and Cliff.

“Oh my god, we’re gonna get kicked out,” Jason giggles. He’s cut off by an apple slice hitting him in the forehead. “Ouch, what the fuck.”

“God, our friends are dumbasses,” James grins.

“If we get kicked out, I swear to God, I will strangle you,” Cliff says, giving a pointed look to Dave and Nick, and they seem to understand that when Cliff says something, it’s not a threat, it’s a promise.

“Lars, knock it the fuck off or I _will_ snap your fucking record collection,” Kirk says, and Lars decides that he better call it there on the impromptu food fight.

Things settle down again as they work on finishing their meals.

Though he can’t focus, because Jason's hands start to wander. And just as James is starting to get lost in the feeling of his lips against his own, there's a clatter across the table, and he looks over in half-shock-half-confusion, ‘cause Lars has partially clambered onto it, big Polaroid in his hands. Fucker can’t stop causing shit for a minute to save his life.

The table creaks precariously under his weight, all their glasses and plates starting to slide to the edge.

“What the fuck-”

“Lars, Christ, get down!”

“Dude, you're gonna make me spill my plate-”

“Fuckin’ got it,” Lars snickers. “Here’s a picture, it’ll last longer. Now stop sticking your tongues down each others throats. _Ugh._ ”

He takes the developing photograph out of the slit and hands it to James. Taking it dumbly, James stares down at it, Jason leaning his head on his shoulder as they wait for the image to come into focus.

It's a shitty photograph; too much flash, glare off the windows and the vinyl of the booth. They're both a little out of focus, edges of the photograph blurred. And yet, it's all there; Jason's lips against his own, hands wrapped around hips and tangled in hair, the two of them pressed so close it's like there's no space between them at all.

Almost like the love between them radiates off the film, transcends the medium it’s been memorialized in.

“Oh,” Jason says, “So that's what we look like.”

“Yeah,” James murmurs dreamily. He tucks the photo in his jacket pocket, saving it until he can put it on the fridge at home. “We look good.”

Then he leans in and kisses Jason again, like he could never ever get enough. It never will be enough, he thinks.

The waitress comes by and drops off their checks, and Jason and James untangle to slap some cash on the table with extra for the tip. When everyone is paid up, with assorted 10’s and 5’s strewn between the shredded napkins and spilled syrup and spare utensils, they grab their boards they left under the table and head out into the parking lot.

Cliff wants to have a cigarette before they go home. James does too. Cliff leans against a handicapped parking sign, and James sits down on the curb, legs stretched out. Jason sits next to him, pressing into his side and leaning his head on his shoulder.

In the meantime, Lars begins to mess around on his board, showing Dave and Nick some of the freestyle tricks that he’s been working on while they try to follow along. Kirk laughs whenever Lars trips himself up, alternating between talking to David and Marty about some horror movie and shouting out tricks for Lars to attempt.

As he wraps his arm around his boyfriend, James thinks about how lucky he is. Whatever life was like before they got together, James doesn’t remember, because all that matters now is him, being with him, surrounded by these wonderful people he’s come to love, too.

“Hey,” Jason murmurs. He grabs James’ free hand, laces their fingers together, looks up at him with a soft smile. “What’re you thinking about?”

James grins. “Just you,” he says, squeezing Jason’s hand. There’s something about this moment with Jason here, glowing under the streetlights, smiling up at him, that makes him want to say what he’s been meaning to say for so long.

So he says it.

“I love you.”

Jason’s eyes widen. His soft smile broadens, so big and so bright, and he’s laughing now, and James swears he sees Jason’s eyes glitter, like he’s about to cry.

“I love you, too. So much, oh my God,” Jason murmurs. He laughs, watery, as James cups his cheek. Jason nuzzles into the touch. “I’ve felt it for so _long._ ”

Then he kisses Jason. James wonders if he could ever stop himself now that he’s started.


End file.
